


Blended

by LizzyGal



Series: Moments of Clarity [3]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Creampie, Established Relationship, F/M, Miscarriage fears discussed, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Ransom Drysdale Being an Asshole, Ransom Drysdale's Sweater, Shameless Smut, Smut, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal
Summary: Ransom has finally achieved success.Ransom has impregnated his boss, who is just as horrible a person as him. Ransom has access to the wealth and business empire of his Babymama, a wealthy widow. However, upon achieving his greatest success, will Ransom be happy?Can Ransom do the family thing? Will Ransom and his widow make their dysfunction work? Can Ransom adult?Most importantly...is Boston ready for Ransom?:::Part three in "Moments of Clarity" saga of dysfunction:::**Usual warnings for profanity and offensiveness - Along with the discussion of fears of miscarriage in Chapter 3**
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Series: Moments of Clarity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735510
Comments: 61
Kudos: 160





	1. Walt Thrombey

**Author's Note:**

> :::Hello! So, this is a part three. Which was a pleasant surprise! Who knew these two psychos would be so entertaining? Anywho, this does have mentions from things in the other two parts. So you don't have to read the other parts, but, it may make it easier to understand in some bits. Plus there's some filthy stuff in the other parts. Happy readings!!:::

Obviously, the phone call had been a mistake. 

Some type of a clerical error on the schools part, since Ransom was in no way related to your nephew. Considering how much money you paid the private school, Ransom was surprised the office staff would make such a mistake. You’d think the school could have hired office staff who could read?

However, upon hearing about the latest little scuffle your nephew found himself in, Ransom found himself leaving his office and telling his latest secretary, who he planned to fire right after lunch, that he’d be back.

Which led him to one of Boston’s most exclusive private schools. He would know, he’d attended as a youngster.

Once inside the familiar halls and front office, he was in for a shock.

Ransom could not fucking believe it.

Straight up, hands down, gun to his head. If someone told him that his Uncle Walt would walk out of the principal’s office, at your eldest nephews private school, he would have called them a damn liar.

However, there Ransom sat, beside you, as you filed your nails down to points, clearly in an increased state of agitation due to Little Hugh. Who was turning out to be quite the little handful in his unborn state. Just yesterday, you’d gotten your nails done. Already, you hated them. Just the sight of them pissed you off. And there you sat, filing, legs crossed, lips a firm line as you glared at the now perfect points, as if they had done you wrong.

Since you were busy, Ransom turned to your eleven-year-old nephew. “That’s your fucking principal?”

Your nephew nodded.

This was not his first visit to see the principal that week.

Hence the need to upgrade your manicure. 

“Yeah…” your nephew sighed deeply, slouched down in the chair. Once pristine school uniform now rumpled, dirty, a few drops of blood on his ripped white shirt.

You were incensed.

After your last encounter with the principal, you were in no mood. 

The former had suffered a heart attack, while you were berating him for his inability to properly run a school. And then died before the paramedics could even arrive. Ok, so sure, it was no shock, the man weighed nearly four hundred pounds and always had a Slurpee within arm’s reach. But now you had to have this whole unpleasant meeting all over again, but with additional bonus footage: school yard fight 3.0 added on.

You told Ransom he didn’t have to come when he texted you. You were more than capable of ripping apart the new hire. You were looking forward to it, since you had to stop attending your kickboxing class. Now, you were shipped off to prenatal yoga. Shudder.

Ransom had insisted.

Miss an opportunity to see you, in your condition, tear some unfortunate soul a new asshole and get laid? It was the perfect way to spend his lunch break. Ransom was getting more sex than he knew what to do with, thanks to your hormones. He could have done without the near constant Korean food. Between the butler, Mrs Kim, hiring half her family to work for you, the Korean food all the damn time and hearing Korean spoken daily, Ransom felt like he was living in Little Fucking Korea. 

It somewhat highlighted the sudden change Ransom’s life had taken. Much to his and everyone’s surprise who knew him, to include you.

When he said, no, demanded, to join you on your quest to create your own family dynasty, that would assume control of the vast fortune your first husband had left you, you weren’t entirely convinced Ransom was the man for the job.

He had yet to abandon ship, so that was a pleasant surprise. 

Therefore, you tried not to ask too much of him, place too much on those impossibly broad shoulders. Just in case he sudden had a change of mind.

Truth be told, Ransom was a bit surprised by it all too.

Never once having thought pregnant women were attractive, Ransom found himself thinking your little bump was the cutest thing. Even if you wouldn’t let him call it that when you were around, and your boobs. Jeez your rack was amazing. It just got bigger and bigger. Paired with you being more randy than a teenage boy. He was more than willing to run out at three am, to get you all the Ginger Ale and spring rolls you wanted.

He’d order in lunch when he returned to his new offices.

He didn’t have a meeting till two, with his lawyers, who were helping him with the hostile takeover of his family’s former publishing house. It was one of the first things Ransom had done, with one of the holding companies that you’d given him. Well, after he fired half the staff, mostly middle management and above. Ransom didn’t need anyone questioning him or telling him what to do.

Next, he was going after his mother’s real estate company.

After that, maybe whatever the hell it was Aunt Joni did? If he ever figured it out. He went on the website once, but that was about it. It was just way too bizarre. Ransom enjoyed the depraved and obscene as much as the next person. But candles that smelled like genitals, with little flowers and stones in them, was too much, even for him.

“Ransom?”

“He’s such a tool,” your nephew finished, sighing, while you continued to file. Ransom sat smack dab between the two of you. Totally unable to understand why his Uncle Walt was the principal here. Here of all places.

“Your damn right he is,” was Ransom’s response.

He neither smiled nor responded, when Walt moseyed on over, generally surprised at the sight of his sister’s son in the waiting area of his new office. He thought it was a bit odd his secretary was gone. Along with the several parents and school staff who were waiting, or working in the front office. Last time he emerged with a parent and student, who’d been involved in the dispute with the boy to Ransom’s right, the front office was full. “What are you doing down here? Linda didn’t mention you coming to see me last time we spoke.”

“Well I didn’t have much going on till two. Thought I’d come down here for the show.”

Puzzled, Walt frowned.

Sighing deeply, as if expending the last bit of energy he had within his small body, your nephew pointed across Ransom. “My Auntie is here, Mister Thrombey.”

Walt looked over to you, surprised, since he hadn’t been informed by the secretary that you’d arrived. Which was weird, since she was usually always at her post. She even ate her lunch at her desk. Odd.

“Mrs. Rosenberg?”

You stopped your filing and glanced up, saying nothing, looking the auburn headed man over from nose to toe, appraisingly, slowly. Finally, scrunching your nose as if smelling something horribly unpleasant. Clearly, he did not meet the standard.

When Walt held out a hand, you looked at it as if he was handing you a dead rat.

Ransom was so fucking turned on by that look. It was worth missing lunch to see that face alone.

“I tried to warn you,” your nephew added, quietly, looking elsewhere.

“So, you are the piece of shit, who is unable to keep my nephew and his class safe from that raving psychotic teenager? I had to cancel my prenatal massage because of your ineptitude. And you, want me, to shake your hand? What? Am I shaking your hand to congratulate you on being an idiot?”

A look of understanding came over Walt’s face.

His office had been full last time he was there, when he had spotted your nephew taking a seat, fresh from his trip to the school nurse.

Afterwards, everyone had cleared out.

“This is the fourth time, my nephew has been accosted, by that little soon-to-be-felon and you want me to shake your hand? He has stitches Mister Thrombey. You had better believe, I am stopping at my lawyers office with this child, so I can sue the parents of that boy and this school. I’m am not paying this establishment good money, for my nephew to get beaten up by the next Israel Keyes.”

Walt risked a look over to the ‘child’ in question. Your nephew gave him a ‘told you so’ look, before he began to swing his legs.

When Walt spared a glance at Ransom, he understood what his asshole of a nephew was talking about. 

Linda had told him that Ransom got his boss pregnant, moved in with her and was currently embedding himself in deep, like a tick. Taking over various businesses belonging to her late husband, as well as charities and foundations. At first, Walt had been concerned like Linda, worried that Ransom would take complete advantage of a young rich widow. Walt had been worried, that Ransom was up to his old tricks and would just eat you alive.

Walt was no longer concerned for your wellbeing.

“Does it speak? Tell me I did not cancel my massage appointment, for you to just stand there and gape at me. I will be very upset if that is the case. Trust me, Mister Thrombey, you do not want to see me when I am upset.”

Leave it to his nephew, to find the one Golddigger in all of Boston, that was batshit fucking crazy and then get her pregnant. Just judging from the delighted look on his nephews face, Walt suspected, it was a volatile pairing. He should have listened to the kid. The nephew tried to warn him. He should have just sent him home with paperwork. The nephew was right, he wanted no part of Auntie.

And this was where his Great Nana was now living? With Ransom and this handful?

Walt didn’t want her living with him, but still, that wasn’t the point.

“No,” he managed, trying to remain calm and cool and collected. “Of course not. Why don’t we go speak in my office?”

You stood on heels, that Walt thought looked dangerously high for a woman in your condition. Yet, you walked without any real difficulty. Giving him a look that he could only call murderous. Then you pointed at your nephew, who remained unmoved in his chair, legs still swinging. “I’ll be right back.” You then handed over your purse as Ransom stood too, not about to miss a second of this.

Immediately, your older nephew began to dig through it on a quest for gum.

“Actually, I think we should include your nephew in our…”

Your held up a hand full of sharp pointy nails. Painted nude with a matte finish. “Oh that’s cute. It thinks. No. He’s staying out here. I think you’ve done more than enough today, and I swear…if he has a scar because of those stitches…”

You then walked towards his office, heels clicking soundly on the floor.

Walt looked to Ransom.

Ransom grinned and smacked Walt’s arm jovially. “Isn’t she amazing? You guys were right…getting disinherited was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

When Ransom strutted off towards his office, Walt risked one last glance at the nephew, who had little warned him not to call you. What had he heard whispered around the school? The nephews were being raised by a filthy rich bitch of an aunt and her asshole prick of a boyfriend? Two lunatics running the asylum, was a phrase he’d heard tossed around when discussing the aunt and boyfriend. 

Walt had just chalked it up to gossip, unfortunately.

***

“That’s my uncle Walt,” Ransom told you, dropping down into the chair beside you. Casually adjusting his coat and scarf, then peering around the moderately sized office with an amazing view of the parking lot.

It could have been any principal’s office. Both of you would know, you’d both seen your fair share of them growing up.

Standard wood grain desk, old chairs in front of it. Walls covered with school paraphernalia, degrees and certificates, pictures from over the years of the school. The smell of paper hung in the air.

This was just the type of thing Ransom had avoided like the plague.

School functions? Homework? Science fair projects? Sporting events?

No.

Hard pass.

Ransom was not a family man. 

Lucky for him, you weren’t looking to go settle in the burbs with 2.5 kids, a dog and cat, white picket fence and mini-van. Somehow it felt better, to think of it as a dynasty. The word family was tainted to him. It made the bile in his stomach fester. A family was the last thing he’d ever want, or to further the Drysdale name and legacy of dysfunction. Cohabitating with you and your nephews, in the luxury penthouse your rich-ass dead husband you left, was different. You could never marry him without losing everything, and that was something he’d never allow. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel confining, he didn’t feel trapped. 

He wasn’t turning into his father.

Just thinking about being a father hadn’t sent him running for the hills, yet. Seeing the fetus on the ultrasound hadn’t made him want to go out and buy a crib, or anything. Sometimes he wondered what his son would look like. He’d for damn sure be a better dad than his own. A gorilla was a better father than Richard. So there was nowhere to go but up.

Your nephews seemed to take a liking to him. Any boys who could beat him at cards were ok in his book.

Your eyes narrowed and you tapped the arm rests of the chair with your modified manicure. “Uncle Walt? Eww.”

“Exactly,” he nodded, peering around once more before leaning his body towards you, flinging one long leg over the other knee. “How is my offspring treating you today, my little hellcat.”

You gave him a significant amount of side-eye, before peering down at the small swell of your body. Tapping it through the cashmere dress you had on, you reported back. “Irreprehensible as always. Just like his father.”

Before Ransom could respond, he heard his Uncle Walt come in, close the door and then Ransom winked at you. Boy did he really wish he had a snack, a beverage, someplace to kick up his feet.

“Thank you for coming down so quickly. I had wanted to speak with you about your nephew for another matter entirely, so let’s just combine both? We can discuss something positive and negative. Sound ok?” Walt inquired, hoping that maybe some good news added in, may smooth your rough edges. As he walked around his desk, he couldn’t help but notice the shit-eating amused look on Ransom’s face. God how he hated that look, everything that look represented. 

How this little shit managed to bounce back on his feet was beyond Walt.

Your face remained cold, unimpressed.

Sensing that this could go from bad to neutral, Ransom helpfully chimed in. “Negative? Are you implying that our nephew is to blame for his own ass beating?”

Walt wasn’t sure what was more infuriating. Ransom referring to that kid out in the waiting room as his nephew, when he’d never once in his life shown any interest at all in kids, or even his own cousin. Or the fact that Ransom was sitting across his desk from him, smirking, intentionally stirring the pot.

Linda was going to hear about this.

It took everything in Walt to keep his cool.

This was a good job. He needed this job. Unlike Ransom, he couldn’t fuck his way to a better future.

The poor unfortunate soul, that Ransom had knocked up, looked about ready to come across his desk and claw out his eyes. So that was where Walt focused his attention, on the biological relative. “No, not at all. Unfortunately, this school has a Zero Tolerance Policy towards violence, to include fights. What that means is…”

Ransom pondered that for a moment, like a heat seeking missile looking for a target.

You did not need to ponder. Shifting forward in your chair, your voice lowered dangerously. “According to my nephew, that high school student attacked him with a hockey stick. All the other little children and two teachers said that fifteen-year-old hit him with that stick and then knocked him down. My nephew was only defending himself.”

Ransom nodded in thoughtful agreement, as if contemplating Plato. Finger tapping on his chin.

This led Walt to pause, recollect, place his palms on his neat desk. “Indeed, but there was still a fight…”

Again, Ransom, that little shit, spoke up. “That’s not the way we heard it. How can a eleven-year-old fight a fifteen-year-old? Do you usually allow kids that are known bullies in with the younger kids? Cause to me…that’s just asking for trouble. As a concerned legal guardian and all.”

Linda was so getting a phone call.

How Ransom could keep a straight face, while spewing that bullshit, was beyond Walt’s ability to comprehend.

“If my nephew, is in any way disciplined for this, I will bury you and this entire school and that family. I have more than enough money to drag this out through the courts for years. I’m not the one to fuck with Principal Thrombey.”

“No, no, of course not. Of course not,” Walt agreed like a little weasel, if Ransom had to say. He watched his uncle squirm and enjoyed every second of it. Especially when his uncle cautiously, so very carefully, skirted around, “But the other child, a minor, did have to go to the emergency room. Your nephew had to be pulled off him by two teachers. As he…sat on the other student and banged his head into the ground.”

It was only a lifetime of knowing Walt, that kept Ransom from breaking out in laughter.

That and whatever was about to come from you. Because something was about to come from you. Ransom could just feel it.

Before that happened though, Walt hit you with the final blow. “Is your nephew seeing anyone? Professionally? For his anger?”

You stared in utter disbelief.

Then you looked at Ransom, eyebrows raised as if trying to determine if the amber headed man was indeed serious.

Unfortunately, Ransom knew that Walt was being, for real, serious.

Fortunately, Ransom knew exactly what to say, thus allowing the mother of his unborn child some time to simmer, stew, come up with something wildly offensive, and or scathing. He was already buying you jewelry, as a gift, for this whole delightful encounter with his uncle. But what and size was still unknown.

“Funny…he’s not angry or violent at home. Jeez, you know, if only there were some way for us to determine the issue? I mean, the kid is one of the highest scoring students in this school. He’s one of the best players on the hockey team. I mean, Walt…it’s almost like this high schooler is the problem. Which makes it a failure on your part. Maybe you should look in a mirror. If this school is the problem…” 

Boy did that feel good. Ransom was definitely going to have to do this more often. From where he sat, he so sanctimoniously smirked, practically leered at his uncle, who just trembled with animosity towards the younger man.

Walt’s mouth opened.

“If this school is unable to keep my nephew safe, there are dozens out there vying for him to be enrolled with them,” you snarled.

“And her checkbook,” Ransom helpful added.

Sensing that he could lose the top financial donor among the parents, Walt’s hands went up. “Wait, now hold on. This school maintains…”

“And why did the other kid go to the hospital? Why didn’t ours? Is the school nurse even qualified to give out stitches?” Ransom so helpfully added, doing his best to pour gasoline on the already raging proverbial fire. This was almost better than sex. Not quite as good, but it was up there.

“Why don’t we discuss academics for a moment,” came from Walt, before you could say a word. “I would like to encourage you, to allow your nephew, to participate in the Math and Science Club. It meets three times a week, after school, for additional projects and trips to math and science related events and places around New England.” Quickly, almost desperately, as you sank into your chair and crossed your arms over the small swell in your lap, Walt grabbed some paperwork from inside his desk. “It is an invitation only club, based solely on academic marks. Several invitations have already been extended, but, your nephew has always said he plans to follow his Uncle in the family business?”

Your icy little heart made a little beat.

Ransom smirked.

Walt pushed the Math and Science Club information to the edge of his desk. “Really, your nephew is exceptionally gifted. He would get so much from furthering his education outside the classroom. I’m sure you’re aware that his behavior of late has indicated that he’s becoming bored in class. Miss Claire might have mentioned it?”

At this, Ransom looked at you, a dark eyebrow rose.

“The cute little redhead you made cry yesterday, when you picked them up,” you explained.

To which Ransom remembered, nodded thoughtfully, then snickered.

“If you could perhaps maybe…talk with him about his behavior in class? He’s an exceptional student. I think he would get a lot helping out…” Walt slowed, as he saw the same disdainful look on yours and Ransom’s face, that he saw on your nephews face.

The same exact eyeroll came from you, as Ransom spoke, the words that had been spoken just yesterday, by the nephew. “He doesn’t get paid to do her job.” 

Nearly word for word.

Walt had been shocked when Miss. Claire had told him that was the boy’s response, when she asked him to help a classmate out with a math problem.

Everything was so clear now.

Especially when you seconded Ransom, “Well it’s not. He’s eleven for fucks sake. Get her an assistant, or find a better teacher. I am not sending my nephew here, to educate the children of Boston’s One Percenters. I’ll bring up this club with him. And you’ll hear from my lawyers about that incident in the gym later today. Was there anything else? Or would you like me to move onto you, Mister Thrombey?”

“Excuse me?” Walt blinked as you stood. Absolutely in disbelief, that not only were you going to be a mother, bringing a small little human being into existence. But, to top off that horror show, Ransom had fathered that human being. 

Unable to even hide his glee just a bit, Ransom gazed up at you as only he could, “Oh God yes, please,” he just barely managed to get out.

You were already ready without his support.

“If I have to come back here, I am coming with a small army of lawyers. You better make sure that delinquent stays away from my nephew. Keep him with the high schoolers. It cannot be that difficult. Otherwise, I will be back and trust me, you do not want me to have to come back here. I won’t be as understanding.”

Walt watched you leave, eyes wide.

He also wondered just when Louboutin made maternity shoes.

“Isn’t she amazing,” Ransom preened. “And you told me, I’d never find anyone as fucked up as me to trick into a lifetime of misery and suffering.”

***

Your nephew stared up at you, warily, from the chair in the front office, popping a piece of gum, somewhat concerned. 

All you could do was motion for him to rise. “Come along young grasshopper. We’re going to the doctor and then to do errands.”

Your nephew eyed you, “Am I in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it, your gaze darted around the still empty office just in case. You didn’t need any witnesses. “No. I told you…”

From behind Ransom chimed in, “We told you.”

You could not help but roll your eyes.

“…if you stood up for yourself, we’d back you up. You did good. We’re incredibly proud of you. Now, go get in the car. Mister Kim is waiting. I need to speak with Ransom.”

Ransom knew exactly what that was code for, and judging by the raised eyebrow on the boy, your nephew had his suspicions. Yet, not about to wait around for any adult to change their mind, he was up and bolting from the front office as if escaping from custody, with your purse tucked under his arm like a football.

Ransom could hardly wait for him to get out of the office, before leaning down to brush his nose against the back of your head. “That was so fucking hot. I’m going to eat you out for an hour tonight.”

A pleased noise came from you.

Ransom followed you to the open doorway, where your nephew had bolted mere moments earlier. 

Having previously attended the particular institution of learning, Ransom directed you with a hand resting on the small of your back, to a location that would suit both of your purposes.

“Did you know your Uncle Walt was the principal?”

Of course you’d figure that out. That wasn’t the type of thing you wouldn’t be able to piece together.

You glanced at a big art project up on the wall for the coming Fall Festival, heels loud on the hard polished floor, as Ransom directed you. 

“Fuck no! I don’t keep track of that man. Don’t ask me why this fucking school hired him. I’ll file a complaint on my way out.”

When you saw the door that awaited you, at first you were hesitant, but then you realized, you frankly did not care. You didn’t need anything fancy. You just needed his dick. You needed it like you needed Korean food, along with those lemon tea drinks from the corner market. It was getting to be near the point of ridiculous, and you weren’t even in your last trimester.

On the other hand, you were actually very proud of yourself.

You managed to hold it together until you were pushed into the single person bathroom, meant for the front office, between a trophy case and vending machines. You suspected you were only able to keep it together, because you’d been so pissed off by Principal Walt. And then Ransom was up behind you, so you weren’t able to see him, only smell his expensive aftershave and feel him up against your backside. Even through the layers, you felt his erection against the small of your back.

Once inside the tile walled and floored bathroom, complete with a sink, a toilet, smelling like bleach and unflatteringly illuminated, you spun around to grab for Ransom just as he managed to shut and lock the door. 

Unfortunately, you were unable to pull him flush against you anymore.

Greedily still, you yanked on his pants, his belt. Not standing on ceremony, not yet. You could kiss him later. You’d been such a good responsible adult. You needed your reward. You wanted your relief. You needed it and you needed him now, now, right in that very second now. As everything just boiled down to the two of you, like you were the last people on earth and how you’d been able to bottle all of that up was just beyond you.

You must have been speaking, because Ransom was nodding in agreement, unbelting himself as fast as ever. “You’re right, you were so good kitten. You were such a good fucking girl. I’m going to give you the best fucking reward ever.”

In what had to be a land speed record, Ransom had his pants and briefs unbuttoned and pushed down his thighs. He spun you around so fast, your hands shot out to grab the white porcelain sink and he was yanking up your dress. He made a noise when he yanked down your panties. Even you heard the wet noise that followed, when the soaked cotton was pulled from you. You could feel just how drenched you were, and in your state, could not for the life of you care.

“God Ransom, you have to fuck me. I can’t think straight. I’m going crazy. I threatened to sue your uncle, for fucks sake.”

And by George, was he going to savor that whole encounter for a long time coming. Siding up behind you, Ransom was already halfway there in the office, watching and listening to you tear through Walt and then knowing, upon leaving, that he was going to get laid, his dick was like granite when he rubbed it between your folds. Using his knee, he widened your stance. 

One hand smacked down over yours on the sink, while his other guided himself into your wetness.

Fuck were you wet and tight.

You watched him close his eyes in the mirror, felt him ease slowly but steadily into you until he was in, spearing you open so uncomfortably at that angle, it felt exceptional. When he began to thrust into you, it was vicious, fast, pushing you into your first orgasm without any real effort. Pregnancy making you so sensitive, so wet. You could hear the sucking gushing sounds coming from you.

“Keep going,” you begged tightly. Biting your tongue at the clenching within your walls and bless him, Ransom kept going. Those shockingly blue eyes of his found yours in the mirror. Ransom watched you as he plowed in to your wet heat, which was just as close as he swore he’d ever come to heaven. Every squelch pushed your juices out till they were running down the inside of your thighs, smearing. It smeared against his thighs, plastering the fine dusting of hair to his skin, completely drenching his balls every time they made contact with you, on every thrust.

“You were amazing. He fucking deserved it. Goddamn your wet. I love fucking you when you get this wet. That feel good?”

In the mirror you nodded at him, watched him as he let go of your hand to touch his child. 

“I’m fucking another baby into the first chance I get. You feel fucking amazing. Your squeezing the shit out of me. That turn you on? You want me to fill you up good? You getting turned on at the thought of that? My cum dripping out of you?” 

To finish you off, that hand slid down over the fabric of your dress, to your mound and into your wet folds. With ease Ransom found your clit. Your mouth popped open when he drew circles around your clit. Pounding again at you, with that god given dick of his, so thick and long, veiny, a plump crown, just utterly perfect in your honest opinion. You could not believe, how much you loved his dirty fucking mouth either. 

It really wasn’t fair how quickly he was able to take you apart.

This pregnancy was just hell on your self-control. 

In frustration, you cried out. Gasping out a few sobs, you warned him, utterly devastated with yourself, your body. “Shit…I’m coming again Ransom…I can’t…”

Ransom doubled his efforts and buried his face against your hair, grunting against your ear. “I’m coming right now. Just let it go. You’re good. You’re fucking gold.” True to his words, as you came, again, squeezing the fuck out of him, Ransom came apart, his arms wrapping around you, holding you, supporting you. A big hand running over where your clothing was bunched around your waist, subconsciously touching the swell of your body. He found he was doing that a lot lately. 

Moving with your body, Ransom pumped into you as he watched your face in the mirror, as you broke apart, came hard on his cock. Face clenched in what could have been pain if he didn’t know better. And when he slid out, his hand left your slippery folds to slide into his pocket, procuring his phone.

Ransom stepped back to behold the sight before him.

He’d never get tired of a good creampie and he made the best ones with you. A few swipes of his thumb later, you heard the sound of a picture being taken. Breathing deeply, you caught your breath and cleared your head from the rush of endorphins, your second orgasm had given you. “Send me one,” was all you had for him in response.

Ransom reached forward to push his escaping cum back into you. 

After, he paused and watched, a smirk on his lips when his cum began to escape again. Seeing how wet you were, how messy, he couldn’t help but bring it up. “You’re gonna have to wear my underwear again. Your pussy is a fucking mess.”

You looked at him in the mirror, rolling your eyes at his pleased expression.

***

“What the fuck is this shit,” Ransom wanted to know, eyeing the permission slip that had fallen out of the backpack he’d had just dumped on the dining room table. Spacious enough to normally seat a dozen. All the place settings had been haphazardly stacked up at one end, along with your newest Chihuly vase. After what happened to the previous one, this one had been moved into the dining room. That day, it was a weekday, which meant homework.

Books, pencils, supplies, papers and even a few comic books went everywhere, even winding up on the floor. Making you roll your eyes but you refused to clean up after Ransom, so you left the backpacks contents where they fell on the floor.

Putting the finishing touches on history homework, your younger nephew peered up from his worksheet. Tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth and eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Honestly, you had no clue how Ransom would react to homework.

You’d never once even asked him to help. And those first few weeks, he avoided the dining room after school in the afternoons like the plague. 

However, after a few more weeks, he’d wander by to see what was going on and before you knew it, you were getting daily emails and phone calls from insulted teachers.

“That’s a field trip. I gotta get signed permission. Cause it’s outside and we’ll be cleaning up old stuff.”

As if he were reading a court order, Ransom’s eyes narrowed and his scowl grew. “Volunteering to clean up historical monuments with a nationally renowned…fuck that shit, you’re not doing that. By the end of the month you will be a Drysdale and Drysdale’s don’t do community service for free.”

Discreetly, you may have murmured, while looking over the homework Ransom had helped with, concerning the Boston Tea Party. Which mostly consisted of checking for colorful language. “Only if it’s court ordered.”

“You’re damn right,” Ransom clapped right back at you, balling up the piece of paper and free-shooting it into a priceless antique vase. One you’d recently acquired from an auction. “You can come to work with me that day. I’ll show you how to make a grown man cry with less than eight words.”

To which you lifted your head, pondering such a sentiment. “Eight words? You’re slipping Drysdale.”

Across the table, you got a heated look in return.

Those blue eyes darkened, promised that you’d pay for that remark. Right around the time your older nephew came into the dining room. Backpack in hand, he sighed loudly, “Auntie…you have to sign something for me.”

Naturally, you held out your hands for your eldest and smoothed a hand over a bruise darkening on his cheek. Tousled his hair, where his four stitches had turned into eleven at your family doctor. Your nephew now rocked a mohawk. Which would make him all kinds of popular on class picture day later in the week.

After a bit of minimal squirming, he wiggled from your grip, produced a form and made a beeline for Ransom. 

You strongly suspected, your days of cuddling up with both your nephews on the couch to action movies, were coming to an end. Soon he’d be a few couch cushions away, if the mothers at the school could be believed. Absentmindedly, you stroked the top of your first ever baby, unborn anyway. 

As you unfolded one more form, wondering if the school had ever heard of emails, which were just so much easier for you to ignore, a fist bump was shared between the two elder males in your household.

Shyly, while beaming, your older nephew plopped down in the chair closest to the man. Who would probably ever be the only father figure your nephew ever had, god help Boston. His biological father was an empty space on his birth certificate. 

Your own eyes found Ransom’s watching you closely, with intent, one could say.

He looked at you a lot that way lately. 

As if he wasn’t anywhere near done with you.

***

Everytime Ransom turned around, Mrs. Kim was there, glaring or swearing at him in Korean, hissing, throwing things at him. And while he could not be sure that she was swearing at him in Korean. Based on context, she wasn’t saying anything good.

And there she was, in the master bedroom, which he’d finally managed to weasel his way into, after much threatening, demanding and negotiating.

Ransom did not want the attached room next door. That master bedroom used to belong to your first fucking husband. 

Even if there was a connecting door in the spacious closets, connected both masters. 

Chip’s room had been emptied out one day and had been converted into an office. And while he liked to pretend he’d done it secretly, to surprise you. Ransom strongly suspected that you didn’t buy that explanation. And that you likely suspected he had the room emptied out by a local charity, redecorated and boom, home office. And that was exactly what he’d done.

Mrs. Kim looked up from where she was seated on the corner of your bed, looking at something on your laptop with you. Well out of middle age, the woman’s hair was far less grey than when she’d begun to work for you. Ransom also noticed, she was dressing considerably nicer. She was sporting a very nice manicure. 

“There you are…” Ransom seethed, standing beneath the empty wall where your beloved Chip’s portrait once hung, overlooking the bedroom. Recently, it had gone missing. You were suspicious. Ransom claimed he had no idea where it went. You refused to put anything up in its place, until the truth came out. Ransom was holding strong. “…I see you’ve been making good use of that expense account Mrs. Kim.”

Mrs. Kim looked at Ransom, as if willing him to burst into flames.

From where you were nestled in your massive bed, eating something that Ransom strongly suspected was kimchi, straight from a blue plastic container, you casually mentioned, “Like you used to?”

A pleased look that came over your butlers face. It just confirmed to Ransom that she did indeed speak English, just not to him.

You looked over your former butler, now your partner at home and easing his way into every area of the financial empire your late husband left you. Jeez did he look good enough to eat. Lounge pants that hung loose, but not loose enough to hide the fact he was going commando. A long sleeve shirt stretched taut over his chest and a cardigan left open. 

“I gave you a baby,” he snapped back, in defense of his previous pilfering of the expense account.

Mrs. Kim slowly rose from where she was seated. Smoothing blankets over you, tucking you in, whispering to your unborn child. After which she rose and you spooned a considerable amount of kimchi, you remarked, “And I salute you for it.”

On your laptop were things that Mrs. Kim insisted you would need to buy soon.

Things like a crib, furniture for a nursery, baby clothes, bottles, blankets, diapers, a stroller…so many little things. You had yet to buy a single thing. Mrs. Kim had cleaned out the room across the hall. It would be the nursery, which you’d currently been using to display your shoes. 

Yet…yet, as she patted your shoulder, you closed the computer. 

After so many years of trying, you were finally pregnant. Finally. You’d tried for most of your marriage to no avail. Now you saw the proof when you looked down, when you went to your doctor on the sonogram screen. You could hear the little heartbeat and could no longer fit in any of your pants. There was a chance, possibly, that you might have to buy some maternity clothes soon. 

Maybe. 

You didn’t want to risk it. Somehow, if you started to buy things like you had with Chip in the first year of your marriage, for a baby, it wouldn’t be real. Either you’d wake up from a dream to find you weren’t pregnant. You’d somehow jinx yourself and find out everything was just a dream, a delusion, some type of a fantasy wish.

The animosity your lady-butler displayed when pointing menacingly at your Babydaddy, hissing, swearing vehemently in Korean then slamming the master bedroom door on her way out, helped distract you. 

“There are a gaggle of Koreans putting kimchi jars in the pantry. There better be a shitload of cash in those fucking things.”

You made a scrunchy face and shook your head. 

Mrs. Kim understood your need for kimchi down to a spiritual level. And as you shoveled more into your mouth, you gestured at him with your spoon. “Don’t be difficult Ransom. I’m the difficult one. You’re supposed to be the petty bitch out of us both.”

More than ever, he was glad that he’d hacked up that fucking portrait and then burnt it to ashes on the BBQ.

Next, he’d take that portrait in the living room. Of that snowy haired bastard, dismantle it with his trusty hammer, then put it in the garbage shoot. Petty? He’d show you petty. Ransom could be the fucking King of Petty.

Practically strutting over to the bed, in the more than spacious master, he glanced briefly at the floor to ceiling windows that had the best view of the city in his honest opinion. Oh how far he had come since his grandfather’s birthday party.

Who thought that particular moment of clarity would lead to this?

Granted, he could do without the stinky fermented cabbage. 

“Why was she in here? This isn’t social hour. We’re not paying her to gossip and cackle with you.” He reminded you, continuing his journey to the other side of the bed, where he grabbed your laptop and flung it over on a nearby chair. Then, as if in protest, he ripped back the blankets, exposing you down to your pedicure, ruining your evening tuck-in. To which you actually could feel a pout coming on. Your bowl of kimchi was tossed up on your nightstand, further breaking your heart.

Unable to say the words, to voice your fears, which sounded either totally legitimate or absolutely ridiculous to you, depending on the moment. You instead cocked an eyebrow. “Anyway…you said you were going to leave it up to the boys, on if they’d take the Drysdale name.”

If he was surprised by your change of subject matter, Ransom didn’t react. 

Instead, he climbed up on your bed and walked on his knees to the middle, where you were vegged out. And as he set about doing something that he seemed to have his mind set, he informed you. Hands reached up under your sleeping shirt, a t-shirt you’d stolen from his drawer. “We had a discussion and decided that we all want to be Drysdale’s. Maybe, if you’re a good girl tonight, I can talk them into hyphenating.”

You had absolutely no doubt, trickery had somehow been involved.

Unmoved, literally and figuratively, you watched him slide your panties down your legs, then fling them aside.

“Take your shirt off. I want to see those tits.”

In response, you flung his t-shirt at him once you’d pulled it over your head. 

No sooner had you nestled back into the pillows, were his hands on you, cupping your breasts and brushing his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. Unable to help himself, he leaned down to take your nipple in his mouth. So fucking pleased with himself, when you arched up against him, soft breathy noises escaping from your mouth. 

It was like a switch flipped.

You’d almost kinda got used to the change in your hormones, wanting to ride him every time he was in the same room with you like your life depended on it. So far, you were lucky, Ransom had been very open to the changes in your sex drive.

But the second he put his mouth on you.

That low simmer that was just beneath the surface, a steady low constant, erupted into a full-fledged boil. Your hands went down to grab his erection and were quickly batted away.

“Not yet,” he told you.

Not yet?

You looked down at him, bewildered.

Wistfully, Ransom took your nipple between his lips and tugged till it popped out. Only then, did he look at you. Only then, did he place hands on your knees and pop your legs open. “You were such a good fucking girl today. You get a reward.”

Your reward?

And then, when he began to crawl backwards and lie down on his stomach, wrapping muscular arms around your thighs, you remembered his promise.


	2. Richard Drysdale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::Hello friendly readers! Thank you for the comments, they are always treasured! I've been bogged down since June with a big move, and sadly, it has sucked up some of my me-time. As that horror show wraps up this week, for the most part, I'm getting my me-time back and catching up. *Happy Dance*:::

Ransom appeared above you. Dressed for work, smelling amazing and most definitely not as dizzy as you had been feeling, for what felt like your entire pregnancy. You’d been dizzy for a good bit of your pregnancy, but recently, it had become unbearable. For nearly three weeks you’d been stuck on the couch most days. You were so nauseous you could barely stand to be upright longer than five, ten minutes, at the longest.

“Did you even come to bed last night? Or have you permanently moved onto the couch for the rest of your pregnancy? Just so I know.” 

In response, you held up your hand, to flip off the father of your child.

It was true. 

You’d spent the night on the couch.

Mrs. Kim was once more taking your nephews to school.

This was just ridiculous.

Peering down at you, Ransom ran fingers through his hair before grabbing his sunglasses out of his pocket. “You make a doctors appointment? Or are you still refusing to see that young perky bitch?”

To which you further glared at Ransom.

Oh that young perky bitch, the new doctor at the office you’d found after much research and word of mouth. You’d gone for Doctor Lopez. But had just one appointment with the older experienced doctor. Who you loved. Now she’d seemed to be delivering every baby in the greater Boston Area, whenever you called for an appointment.

You’d agreed to see the new doctor at the practice, Doctor Lewis.

What a fucking disaster that appointment been. You’d never felt so belittled in your entire freaking life. Yes, you knew nausea was normal in pregnancy, you’d looked it up on the internet. But everywhere on the internet, it said to tell your doctor if it made your daily activities difficult. Difficult didn’t cover how you were feeling. 

It was constant. It wasn’t morning sickness either, that was mostly gone. You were in your second trimester and unable to stand up for long, or sit. Riding around in a car was unbearable. All you could really do was lie on the floor, couch or bed.

After the humiliation you’d experienced with the new young doctor, you’d refused to schedule another appointment. Not till you got a different doctor. Already you were sensitive about your lack of an education. You didn’t need someone younger than you, rubbing what you lacked, in your face. “Later this morning. I have an appointment with one of the guy doctors…Wang, I think. Hopefully he can give me something. I saw online there are pills I can take.”

“You want me to come? I’d be more than happy to rip that bitch a new asshole.”

You made a shooing gesture with your hand. “I’m just going for this dizziness and I’m not seeing Miss Thing. Just pick me up some more ginger and grapes after you have lunch with Richard.”

More ginger and grapes.

Ransom wasn’t happy to hear that. He hadn’t seen you eat anything more substantial than grapes and the occasional mandarin, from being so fucking dizzy, for a couple weeks now.

This could not be good for his son.

He was so calling that office after your appointment, intending to ruin all of their days. After you saw Doctor Wang, or whoever. 

According to every-fucking-one and the internet, the second trimester was supposed to be the easiest, the honeymoon period of all the trimesters. You? No. You seemed to have a near constant case of car sickness. Even riding the damn elevator was hell for you. This was more fucking annoying, than when you threw up on his shoes, in your first trimester.

“Fine,” he sighed, “But call me when you get out of your appointment and let me know how it went. Even that Korean Witch is worried.” 

Like he always did, Ransom reached down to touch your ever-growing abdomen. Ensuring that now you looked for reals pregnant. You were having to wear his button ups and sweaters with leggings most the time, since you weren’t fitting into your clothes anymore. You still refused to buy maternity clothes. Ransom assured you that you looked like a smoking hot pregnant woman, if it could even be said. He raved about the size of your tits. Before the constant vertigo ruined everything, Ransom was getting sex up to five, six, sometimes seven times a day. Therefore, this whole vertigo issue, needed to be taken care of asap.

“I left a note for Korean Satan, to call her brother, to come replace that drywall. So sometime today you’ll need to move to the bedroom,” Ransom added.

You gave him the dirtiest look you could manage, in your condition, as Ransom gave your son a pat. You still didn’t believe the living room painting of Chip burst into spontaneous flames. Unfortunately, you had no proof and your nephews claimed to have seen it happen with their own eyes. You suspected there had been bribery involved, but you had no proof of that either.

****

Having lunch with his father was not something that Ransom would say he did willingly, or because he felt bad for the position his father was in. Honestly, he could have cared less if his father ate or not. He also knew that he’d be fitting the bill for lunch, since Richard got pennies in the divorce.

Ransom just didn’t want his father hanging around his office.

If his father was allowed to just loiter around where he worked, Richard could very well get the wrong idea. 

Richard could think that Ransom wanted him around, and Ransom could not have that, that was how things got out of control. 

Which was how Ransom found himself dropping down into a booth, at one of Boston’s more expensive steak houses, which happened to be packed for lunch and seated across from his father. The man had already taken the opportunity to order an appetizer and drink from the bar.

“Ransom,” his father greeted, glancing at his Rolex before Ransom had a chance to make himself comfortable, or pick up a menu. “You’re late. I already ordered.”

Not even dignifying that with a response, Ransom rolled his eyes and finally took the opportunity to make himself comfortable. Just from the look on his father’s face, he knew he was in for a long lunch.

“So I spoke with your mother.” Richard pointedly told his son, glaring across the table. Unable to still believe what Linda had told him. This Ransom who sat before him was not the same Ransom who had got arrested for murder. This Ransom was worse. This Ransom was a raging flaming asshole with money. When Ransom was merely ambitious with limited access to resources, he was far more tolerable. 

“Oh,” was all the answer he got in response.

Blue eyes on his grown son, Richard watched his adult offspring check out his beer before taking a sip.

“She says you’ve knocked up that rich widow, refuse to marry her and are adopting two Hispanic kids which you’re leaving everything in your will to…is that true?”

Swallowing his refreshing beverage, Ransom shook his head that it was not true.

Richard breathed an obvious sigh of relief. Leave it to Linda to get the details wrong. He watched Ransom take a drink and then set the brown bottle on the table, before he finally spoke. “I don’t know what they are Dad. The younger one might be Hispanic. But the older one is something else, mixed is what the boy calls himself. I mean…he’d be the one to know.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Richard couldn’t help it. It just slipped out.

“Jesus son! I thought your mother was just hysterical when she told me you’re giving our family name to two kids that aren’t even related to us. Then your flesh and blood biological son…SON…will have some dead guy’s name! Would you care to explain your logic in this? Please tell me you have some type of a plan! And your mother says you aren’t even planning on marrying this woman? Is that true? Tell me it’s not true!”

Ransom was well aware that Richard’s raised voice was making people stare.

Ransom didn’t care. Who cared if he was banned from yet another restaurant in Boston?

A smirk tugged at his mouth, “Wow…so we’re just going to do this right away huh?”

Richard sagged back in the opposite booth, arms crossed and mouth set.

To be fair, Ransom had expected to have this conversation in the near future with both of his parents, especially after his mother had freaked out when he told her a week ago. However, he was a bit surprised she’d spoke to his father so soon. He figured he had a month, or two, before Linda could stomach speaking to Richard. Yet, it seemed she’d called her ex to update him.

It was a bit ironic, for the first time ever Ransom was bringing his parents together.

A young waitress approached the table with what looked like oysters.

She beamed at Ransom as Richard checked her out. 

When she bounced away from the table, both men observed her posterior. Richard did so with the hungry eyes of a man making up for lost time. Ransom did so appraisingly, finding the cute little thing lacking. 

Ransom greatly enjoyed your ass. He liked how you felt pressed up against his pelvis when he fucked you. He liked grabbing handfuls of your fleshy cheeks and squeezing so hard he left red marks, and in some cases, bruises. He loved watching your ass shake when he slapped it. He loved looking at plugs in it when he fucked you. Soon he intended to take your ass. He’d almost had you talked into it.

“Well,” Richard spat.

Boy was Ransom going to appreciate every bit of this conversation. 

“Dad, I’m not getting married. I have no interest in getting married. She has no interest in getting married. If she gets remarried, she loses everything her first husband left and we’re not about to let that happen.”

“So, you two are just going to have a bunch of kids and shack up together?”

The smirk that Ransom gave him, it made him want to slap the ever-living shit out of his son. Richard sputtered angrily, “You’re just…giving up? You’re not even going to try fighting it? You don’t want your biological son to have our name?”

Ransom shrugged.

Richard ran fingers through his salt and pepper hair.

Ransom had given this thought, he didn’t want to be a husband because he didn’t want to turn into Richard. He didn’t want to grow to hate his life. He didn’t want that piece of paper strangling him. He wanted to stay with you because he couldn’t stomach the idea of fucking someone else. Plus, the knowledge of how much this upset his parents was a huge win.

“No…no, no Ransom. No. Don’t you want a family of your own?”

In response, Ransom kicked his long legs out and cocked his head to the side. In something of a challenge and question.

“Don’t you want to have something of your own son? You can’t have a family if no one has the same name. Then you’re just a bunch of people who live together, with no connection.”

More silence came from Ransom’s side of the booth, as he pondered his father’s words.

“You’re not a real family if…”

“Maybe I don’t want a family? Maybe we’re doing something different? And the way I see it…after what happened when Grandad died, I don’t want that to be my future. Maybe I don’t want to end up like you and Mom?”

Harlan.

The subject that was never brought up with his parents. 

Even though his father hadn’t been a huge fan of Harlan, he was less of a fan of what Ransom had done. Richard only wanted the best for his son and hearing those words, it made him bristle. “You don’t want what? To be a family? To have a home?”

And it wasn’t that Ransom didn’t pick up on his father’s rising ire. He just didn’t care.

Reaching for his cold beer bottle covered with condensation, Ransom swirled it between his fingers. “No Dad, I don’t want to get bored. I don’t want to be sixty and kissing the ass of my wife for an allowance.”

“Oh, that’s rich Ransom! You killed Harlan for your inheritance. And now, you’re leaching off this poor woman! One that you’ve somehow managed to convince, to hand over some of her dead husbands businesses! And you’ve knocked her up! Are you getting paid per kid? Or are you charging for every time you screw her?”

Ransom nodded, chewed on his father’s angry words that just grew louder and louder.

Deep down, he knew for a fact, he’d be kicked out of this place too when he was done.

“Fuck you dad, I’m not leaching off anyone! I’m not you! And that damn holding company, its mine. She gave it to me because it wasn’t productive and you know what, since I’ve been there, it’s starting to turn around. It’s my name on the paperwork. It’s my name on the cards. Its mine. It’s called business Dad. If you ever worked for a goddamn living, instead of mooching off Mom, you’d understand.” Then Ransom sat up, growing in anger. “And you know what else? Not because I have to explain myself to you, because I’m a fucking adult, but I’m feeling generous. We’re having a baby because we fucking want one. I know that might be outside the realm of your comprehension. I’m hanging around, because I want to be there and no other reason.”

Richard stood, he slammed his hands on the table palm down. “You know what son?”

“No…tell me what father. Impart upon me the wisdom you’ve collected over the years. I cannot wait to hear what pearls you have for me, as a divorced and jobless senior, living in bachelor apartments because you couldn’t trick a judge into upping your alimony!”

***

Never had lunch with his father put Ransom in such a good mood.

The entrée never arrived.

Richard had started yelling, Ransom yelled back.

Richard threw his scotch at Ransom and the manager told Richard to leave. Shouting ensued and the cops were called.

It was a thing of beauty.

Ransom didn’t even realize he hadn’t eaten lunch, till he swung by the store for your grapes and ginger. He pondered ordering something but wanted to go checkup on his investments, you and his future off-spring, before he pulled the trigger on lunch.

You hadn’t texted him about your doctors appointment. 

You hadn’t answered any of Ransom’s texts.

Now, it was entirely possible you, were back on the couch, unable to answer your phone. Or you could have been in bed, with your phone elsewhere. 

Something told Ransom to check on you.

That vile woman, Mrs. Kim was out doing errands and had texted him back. Telling him you weren’t replying to her texts either. Mrs. Kim also texted back some things directed at Ransom. Such things would remain unsaid, due to the levels of creative profanity, exceeding even Ransom’s. So much so, Ransom was impressed instead of offended.

Upon returning to the luxury penthouse belonging to your dead husband, Ransom kicked the front door shut, yelled out your name and flipped off the painting of Chip that hung overlooking the large foyer. As was his custom.

Wondering if there was anything edible in the fridge, Ransom headed that way.

Halfway there, Ransom shouted your name again, louder that time.

Once in the large empty kitchen, he tossed the bag of fruit up on the counter, headed to the fridge, yelling out, “You eat lunch yet…Richard got us kicked out of the restaurant so I’m starving!”

When no answer came and his blue eyes roved around the fully stocked fridge, Ransom shouted your name even louder.

You hadn’t answered. Not once. 

No shout. No profanity. Not a yell of his name or a sound of the TV, not even a throwing of a shoe into the wall.

It made Ransom pause.

It made Ransom shut the stainless-steel door and once more, call out your name. 

A weird feeling sank into him.

Why weren’t you answering? Even at your dizziest, you had no problems verbalizing anything.

Strolling from the kitchen, Ransom peered down the hallways and into the dining room.

Empty.

Curious, Ransom strolled down on to the big family living room, where you were usually splayed on the couch.

Maybe you were sleeping soundly? Maybe you got a prescription for something and were out of it?

Nope.

Empty.

Ransom hung in the doorway, hands holding onto the doorframe, cerulean eyes taking everything in, to include your purse on the floor by the couch.

Pursing his lips, he decided to check the bedroom.

Maybe you’d fallen asleep in there?

Wandering in that direction, Ransom walked at a bit of a faster pace towards the bedroom he shared with you. He called your name a few more times to answering silence.

By the time Ransom made it to the master bedroom, he was, perhaps, a bit confused while also a bit worried. This was not like you. Not one bit. And when he saw the bedroom was empty, he began to swear, up until he saw the bathroom light was on.

Once more he called your name.

In a few long-legged steps, he made it to the open doorway to the master bathroom. 

That was when he fell silent.

There, on the bathroom tile floor, you were sprawled. Blood pooled beneath your head. Blood was smeared on the edge of the porcelain sink. You weren’t moving. You were on your front and when Ransom ran to your side, rolled you onto your back. You were limp. Profanities poured from his lips as he felt for your neck, touched your nose and mouth to see if you were breathing. All while grabbing his phone from his pants. All while feeling the swell of your body, where his unborn child moved angrily.

“Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit…” fell from his lips as bloody fingers smeared over the screen of his phone, preventing him from unlocking his phone, forget calling 911. All his jostling, his swearing and squeezing you, it made your eyes flutter.

You tried to move. Your hand reached up.

Your name escaped from Ransom’s mouth a bit louder than he realized. 

It was brief, quick and then, you were mumbling into nothingness. Darkness came around you again, the dizziness swirled. Your head hurt too. It pounded like it had been cracked open. Once more, your world tilted and even though you were on the floor, it felt like you fell sheer out of the apartment building.

You tried to tell Ransom you were dizzy. You tried to explain that you fell after using the bathroom. That you were washing your hands, when you just got a wave of the dizzy and boom, face forward into the sink.

You couldn’t be sure if he understood. You hoped so. You didn’t want him to worry.

***

Every time you woke up, it was because Ransom was yelling at someone.

You woke up in the ambulance to Ransom yelling at the paramedics. He was yelling so loud, you heard him over the lights and sirens.

You woke up in the ER, twice, to Ransom yelling and fighting with an ER doctor.

You also woke up once, in a hallway, to sounds of Ransom yelling nearby.

Finally, you woke up in a room with a pounding head, a hand that hurt like hell, an angry unborn baby and a pissed off Ransom. He was seated in a chair in the corner of the room. His legs spread, foot tapping, a palm under his jaw with fingers touching his cheek while oozing hostility.

It took you a moment to concentrate.

You had to narrow your eyes and really look, as your head was pounding something pretty spectacular.

On the other hand, you noticed a particularly pleasant change. 

A release from your suffering, from the constant debilitating nausea that had plagued you for what felt like forever. Oh, you were still dizzy. But you were not so dizzy you could not stand it, so dizzy that your only relief came when you were asleep, so dizzy you were unable to do anything at all. That hold the monster had held over you was broken with just a few lingering marks, bruises, scabs and scraps left behind it felt like.

Carefully, so slowly, you lifted your hand to touch your head, to see if that movement was ok.

“No,” finally came from Ransom.

Your hand paused, but you did not lie it back down on the bed. Mostly, because the butterfly needle taped to the back of your hand, felt like a railroad spike jammed on in there, and being upright made it hurt a little less. 

Maybe you could tug it out?

You were up now. Did you really need it? And sure enough, when you looked, there was a big purple bruise on the back of your hand.

You’d only lifted your other hand, when Ransom stood.

“Leave it alone,” his voice was rough, his words sound. He was not going to argue or take any backtalk from you that morning, you could just tell. “That little doctor you saw was wrong. When they were stitching up your head and checking on my son, they ran some bloodwork. Not only were you severely dehydrated, you have anemia from the pregnancy. If I didn’t get home when I did, you would have bled out on the bathroom floor.”

That sobered you right up.

Blinking in surprise, shock, bewilderment, your hand went down to touch the little handful that moved around inside of you. “Is the baby…”

The hospital bed moved when Ransom sat on the edge of it. He seemed different. He was mad, you could tell. He was upset. He was something else. You yourself felt things that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “Baby’s ok. They did tests. He’s healthy and unharmed. You’ll stay another night just to be sure.”

You weren’t even going to argue.

On top of all that, you were confused. Surely you weren’t such a bad mother already, that you’d failed to notice something so wrong with you. “Ransom, I’m not anemic. Are they sure?”

To which, you got a look.

Quietly, he nodded. “Your body developed anemia from giving everything to our baby. Or something like that and it made you dizzy, weak…that fucking doctor should have done bloodwork, according to the doctor in the ER. You got dehydrated and that made everything worse.”

When you thought about that unfortunate chain of events. You saw the steady decline of your simple downfall. Absently, you placed a hand over Ransom’s, which rested protectively on the life you’d created.

“The good news is, you should be feeling at least a little better. You’ve been getting fluids and iron. You’ll have to see a specialist for the anemia. During the rest of your pregnancy, I’ll be going to every single goddamn appointment you have now. Whether or not you want me to. We’re not having any more trips to the ER.”

You weren’t even going to argue.

Maybe letting Ransom come to all of them…wouldn’t be that bad. He could fight with the doctors for you.

A sigh came from you. Your head sank onto the pillows. 

Ransom remained there, perched on the bed, sitting against your side and just stroking his hand over your abdomen. You couldn’t say why, but you looked around the small private single person room and noticed a large window on the wall. Allowing you to see Mrs. Kim speaking to someone in scrubs, writing down notes in her day planner hurriedly.

You never even had to ask.

Your BabyDaddy followed your gaze. “If anyone asks, she’s your mother. You’re adopted and we’re married.”

There was no need to ask why. You knew hospital visits were for family only. 

On the same disturbed wavelength as you, which happened frequently enough to be alarming, Ransom went on. “That’s the blood doctor. He came down to the ER last night when he saw your lab work. He’s been talking with Korean Satan for the better part of twenty minutes now.”

And you had to admit, you were both touched and relieved.

You were touched at the little family you’d made. You were relieved that Ransom was there with you, at your side, a first ever for you and you had to admit, it was a really nice feeling. You were relieved to know that Mrs. Kim was there, just her being there was enough.

There was just one small blonde problem.

“Why is she here?”

Ransom had to lean over to see the only ‘she’ you could possibly mean. He shrugged, “She got called into the ER last night for you. She’s one of the OB Doctors. She must be up here to check on you.”

To which you frowned. “I don’t want her here. Make her go away.”

This led Ransom to look back at you, cock an eyebrow in question. Still in his slacks and a button up from yesterday, his sweater was on the chair he’d been slouched down in. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the first few buttons popped. Hair a bit messy, a bit floppy. He indeed looked like he’d slept a few hours in the hospital chair. “Why? Who is she?”

“That’s Doctor Lewis.”

Taking in Ransom’s bewildered expression, you remembered. You’d insisted on going to appointments that didn’t involve a checkup of the baby on your own.

You hadn’t wanted to come off needy or desperate.

You’d been on your own for so long, you were used to doing things solo. Now that you’d managed to trap Ransom, you didn’t want him to see what a true hot mess you were becoming because of the baby, because of him. If you had to pretend to not have found the perfect nursery furniture, one more time when he asked why you hadn’t bought any baby shit, you’d scream.

Without noticing, as the young doctor headed towards your door, you squeezed his hand a bit harder than you realized. Which Ransom noticed. He noticed everything. He’d noticed you’d been avoiding buying things for the baby. He noticed you’d had all kinds of shit pinned on your Pinterest Boards for nurseries, clothes, baby everything. Ransom had seen your computer bookmarks. Bookmarks for cribs and baby clothes and all kinds of baby stuff. Maybe he figured out your laptop and phone password? Big deal. You knew his and were in his shit all the time. It was what couples did. 

Well, maybe most couples didn’t leave browser windows open to freaky porn sites for the other to find, but they should.

“It’s her, the doctor who told me I was fine. The one that said dizziness was normal with pregnancies and I was being unreasonable. And that I was wasting her time.”

Never had you ever seen Ransom move so quickly.

He was off your hospital bed in a flash.

From where you rested, in what had to be the world’s most uncomfortable hospital bed, you watched the door to your room open and a pleasant, downright striking young woman in melon colored scrubs come in. Blonde ponytail swinging behind her just like yesterday. When she told you that you weren’t the only pregnant woman to get dizzy and you were just going to have to learn to live with it, for the rest of your pregnancy.

You’d felt so embarrassed and ashamed, your usual spark somewhat dulled by the fact you’d been upright longer than you had in days. Morale had plummeted when she walked into the exam room at your appointment yesterday. All you could do was take it, when it felt like your head was in a vice and the room spun.

Now though, now you knew you weren’t being dramatic. 

Now you knew something had been wrong.

Now you knew you weren’t some hysterical pregnant woman who thought she was a special case. And when she stepped into your room in bright white sneakers, you found yourself protectively resting both hands on your future baby.

Surprisingly, Ransom did not yell or scream.

Continuing his streak of abnormal behavior.

He stormed right over to the door she shut and opened it up. Easily taller than her, just as he was taller than you. Ransom looked the vain of your existence right in the eye. “Get out of this room. Your services are no longer needed.”

Pink lips opened in surprise, revealing perfect teeth.

“Did I stutter? Is English not your first fucking language? Get the hell out, you sanctimonious piece of shit.” Ransom seethed, seeing red yet again, for the first time since his grandfather was alive. When Doctor Lewis glanced your way, he went on, having thought about this all night. When he watched you get stitched up, get examined, get ultra-sounded and pumped full of fluids and nutrients. They’d hoped to keep your body from miscarrying the baby, as the doctors in the emergency room feared. He’d never felt so sick in his entire life. Twice he’d thrown up when they kicked him out of the ER and Radiology. “Yeah, she told me everything. I’d go pack up your locker if I were you, cause her sister is on her way down and she’s on the Board of Directors and not happy. Try telling her that she’s wasting your goddamn time.”

Last night, Ransom didn’t have a problem with this doctor. But now, now he did. Now he had all the problems and had she just been an asshole doctor, he would have yelled and screeched and shouted. But he was far too mad to be noisy.

This was the opposite of what Doctor Lewis wanted to happen.

Never in a million years did she ever expect to see you on the table in the ER last night. Just having seen you in the office, another appointment squeezed in that she didn’t have time for by the office’s admin staff. Overworked didn’t even start to explain it. She’d just gotten her head ripped off by the ER doctor, who had called her office to find out why you had not been admitted yesterday, after getting into a fight with Ransom and finding out you’d been to your OB GYN. 

Doctor Lewis had been hoping you’d still be out of it.

Doctor Lewis had hoped to speak to your gorgeous husband. To check in after she’d managed to help prevent your body from rejecting the pregnancy, in an effort to save itself. You’d been in shock. You’d lost a lot of blood. You’d been so dehydrated that Lewis had no idea how you’d been even made it to the doctor’s office, for yesterday’s appointment.

A quick test. She kicked herself, she should have done lab work. She should have just done it as she considered. Although, she’d thought about taking some blood just to shut you up.

Boy was she glad she’d called her malpractice insurance company that morning to let them know what had happened, especially now. Since apparently you were up and talking.

“Ok, there seems to be some sort of miscommunication…”

Upon hearing that, your heart sank for a second. There was that tone. You knew that tone and it always belittled you, made you feel three inches tall.

She was doing it again.

She would do it to Ransom and…

“Don’t even. You’re not going to talk that way to me and you sure as hell aren’t talking to her that way again. I’m not the fucking one princess.”

How being pregnant could do this to you, turn you to mush, it disgusted you. You should have been a powerful vicious she-beast. Never had you ever let anyone talk down to you, this Doctor Lewis had been a first. Hopefully you’d just been dizzy. You hoped this would pass. You prayed you’d get your spine back. During your first trimester, you’d been hell on wheels. This was horrible. You could not go on like this. What had Ransom said? They’d been giving you fluids? You should have been feeling better soon.

“If you think you can talk to the mother of my child, like she’s some kind of dumbass right off the street, you’ve got another fucking thing coming. You may be able to belittle and intimidate and talk down to all the other pregnant women you come across, in that doctor’s office, but not mine. She almost died with my son onboard. Are you proud of yourself? Was it fucking worth it? Do you wake up every fucking morning thinking up new ways to make your patients feel like shit?”

All she could do was shake her head, intimidated and at a loss, unable to think fast enough, to defend herself from Ransom’s barrage.

Ransom wasn’t done, nowhere near done.

A barrage that kept going, as he walked her out of your hospital room.

It had been greatly impressed upon Ransom, how close you came, to bleeding to death on the bathroom floor. How close you were to suffering a miscarriage had he been ten minutes later. It had been pounded into Ransom, just how dangerous your condition had been, when he’d carried you downstairs to the waiting ambulance in the lobby.

Richard wasn’t going to ruin his chance at happiness and neither was this highly educated bitch. 

Ransom had the rest of his life planned out with you. Forget a five, or ten-year plan. He was planning on going grey with you. He was planning on his kids taking over Chip’s legacy. After Hugh was born, he’d convince you to rename everything. He’d groom your nephews to take over Harlan’s publishing company and his mother’s real estate business, turn them both into empires. In a few years, Boston would be known for the Drysdale and Rosenberg names, more than the illustrious political Kennedy Dynasty. Richard was wrong. Becoming one family was not his style. One was too small, too confining for people such as Ransom and yourself. He’d given this much thought. The two of you coming together to make children, to adopt the boys, to build, that was how Ransom and you would create the dynasty.

Ransom’s future was not going to bleed out on his bathroom floor.

Mrs. Kim was already on her way into the room, planner in one hand and pen in the other. Glancing at the Korean Matron, he pointed at Doctor Lewis, “This is that little bitch who said she didn’t have time for little Hugh Jr.”

The ER Doctor had told Ransom, if he started to scream profanities at anyone one more time…

The ER Doctor said nothing about Mrs. Kim though.

And Mrs. Kim could swear in Korean. Never did Ransom ever think he would be happy for that. Leaving anyone in the clutches of Mrs. Kim was cruel. Ransom was not cruel. Ransom was malicious. Malicious enough that he’d spoken loud enough for your bat-shit crazy sister to hear, as she exited the nearby elevator.

***

You woke up in a different hospital room, one you’d been moved to yesterday. 

A more private hospital room.

It was your third morning waking up in the hospital and you were now positive, that you’d been moved to this room because of the fits Ransom and your sister threw. Over the past two days you’d seen the Hematologist and Obstetrician a few times, plus a Plastic Surgeon. She’d had checked on the stitches in your forehead, across to your temple and up into your hair.

If everything looked good, you would get to go home that day.

Every day the Kim’s brought your nephews to visit and Ransom would spend the night. Still, you were going to be so glad to get home. Your hospital bed was so uncomfortable you swore it had been used as a medieval torture device.

Just as the doctors said, after a couple days of fluids and nutrition, you were feeling almost as good as you had last month. You weren’t dizzy. You had a little bit of an appetite back, mostly you were thirsty and felt more like yourself. 

Unlike every other morning you woke up, you did not wake up to see Ransom in a chair asleep with his arms crossed and long legs stretched out.

Instead, you woke up with his sleeping head resting on his folded arms, which were on your hospital bed, seated in his usual hospital chair. Which he must have pulled up to your bed sometime during the night.

You found yourself reaching down to touch his face, thread your fingers through his soft dark messy hair.

Ransom’s long eyelashes fluttered as those blue eyes opened.

“Mrs. Kim throw you out again?”

Your tone, sassy again, for the first time in weeks, was something that Ransom hadn’t realized he’d missed. How he missed your cutting remarks, your snarky comments and sly comebacks. He missed having someone to fight with more than he could have thought possible.

Grunting, sleepy but so relieved you were lippy again, Ransom lifted his head from his arms. “Not since last Tuesday. I just swung by to check up on my investment. Make sure you haven’t been wheeled past geriatrics and fallen in love with someone there.”

A thoughtful noise came from you, as your fingers continued to comb through his locks.

And he let you.

Not only did Ransom hold still for such an intimate gesture, his hand slid up, smoothed over the rounded edge of your blankets where his son began to move around, as if in protest of being touched.

Sighing, you responded from the pillows you were entrenched on. “As tempting as that is…I’ve become accustomed to having a nice hard dick on demand. Without having to pop Viagra beforehand. You’ve spoiled me Drysdale.” 

Unless you counted that time the two of you had used a Viagra recreationally, just to see, and spent an entire afternoon locked in his old bedroom.

That memory made you smile and pat the sliver of empty bed beside you.

To your surprise, Ransom got up and kicked off his shoes. He climbed up onto the hospital bed beside you and with some doing, managed to wedge himself in that small space. It was in no way comfortable. Nor were you particularly used to that level of intimacy with anyone, as your king bed back home had more than enough space for the two of you to sleep without touching. You were something of a restless sleeper and he was a furnace. Neither of you were type to cuddle. How you slept in the same bed without killing each other, it was a mystery of nature.

Even then, fully dressed, Ransom was too hot.

His long legs trapped yours down on top of the blanket. His chest against your side was like being in an oven and you would have made him get down, had he not been softly touching the rise in blankets. Underneath, your unborn child thrashed around unhappily at the actions of his father. 

“After you pop that kid out and you’re cleared by the doctor, I’ll send all three boys home with the Kim’s and pop two Viagra. We’ll welcome your pussy back in style.”

A smile full of teeth curled over your mouth.

Since you were unable to reach his hair, you found yourself stroking his throat distractedly with your fingertips. An intrigued noise came from you at that mental image. But also, his reference to your nephews and future offspring. Ransom had never vocally referred to them as one. He’d always distinguished them as nephews and his son. Such a huge step could not go unrewarded and you were feeling better.

“What about now?”

His head, resting on your shoulder, popped up.

The bluest eyes you’d ever seen regarded you. “Now? You’re feeling better?”

Slowly you nodded, “Yeah…why? Do you need Viagra?”

***

**Two weeks later**

You glanced up when Ransom threw a magazine on the coffee table in the half full waiting room, checked his watch and then pointedly looked over at the receptionist yet again.

Gone were the days when you could go to any doctor’s appointment alone.

Ransom even went with you to get a pedicure just to be safe. And as it turned out, he was now a fan.

“This is fucking ridiculous…” he snarled beside you. Totally uncaring about any of the other people within hearing range. 

On the couch across from you, on the other side of the coffee table full of parenting magazines and the New Yorker that you’d brought for Ransom, was a married couple your age. A young twenty-something that must have been in the early stages of her pregnancy was to your left, in a big chair, eyes wide at Ransom’s sudden outburst. 

You didn’t even glance up from your phone. On a ‘Ransom Outburst Scale’ of one to ten, it didn’t even register. “Maybe the doctor got called to the hospital to deliver a baby?”

It was your first appointment with this new doctor.

Last week you visited two new possibilities, neither worked out. 

Ransom hadn’t liked the way the doctor looked at you with the first one. As for the second, well, you’d never made it into the office. Ransom had taken two steps in, declared it ‘a shit infested breeding clinic’ and turned on his heel, ushering you back to the car.

“I don’t give a flying shit if she’s delivering the goddamn King of Fucking England. Unlike all these tubercular’s here, my time is worth money.” he clapped right back.

You nodded in complete understanding, as you finished the text to your sister. Asking her for the next name on the ‘OB’s of Boston List’ that were acceptable for her future nephew. “You should go tell them that…” you responded, just as you hit send and then lowered your phone. Lifting your chin to see his outraged expression, at having to wait ten minutes past the appointment time. “Should I just go get in the car?”

Getting up on those spectacular legs, that hours earlier had been wrapped around you, the father of your child stood. “Yeah, go get in the car. I’m going to give this circus of ineptitude a piece of my mind. If they don’t have the common fucking courtesy to send us a text to let us know why they’re running late, how the hell do they expect to inspire confidence in my ability to trust them not to kill you? I put too much hard work and effort into locking you down. I’m not letting some overworked piece of shit overlook something else and do you in. Not today.”

Eyes watched in shock, horror and perhaps a smidge of arousal from around the waiting area.

Outwardly you rolled your eyes, you waved him off and got up to go wait out in the car with Mister Kim.

Inwardly, you could not have been more pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::Next up...Joni makes a appearance!:::


	3. Great Nana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::Content Warning::: For discussion centering around the fear of miscarriage. And of course, offensive language and material.
> 
> ***Hello friendly readers! I sincerely apologize for how long it has taken me to finish this story. I could blame 2020 and may a bit. But, I wrote about 70% of this and then was completely unsure how to end this. So I let it sit for a bit. But I think that I have found the ending for our Ransom and Reader without making anyone soft, or compromising the horrible nature of their characters. Thank you all for reading!!***

Joni Thrombey could hardly believe her eyes when she spotted her nephew Ransom.

Ransom.

Ransom of all fucking people.

Ransom at the charity function of the year, hosted by Boston’s society matron for some bullshit cause that she could barely remember the name of. But it’d taken her months to score a ticket and she was determined to snag one of these rich geezers.

When who did she see? Bickering with a very pregnant woman in Valentino?

Her nephew-in-law, the felon. 

The murderer.

And apparently, the father of that unborn baby who’d never have to work a day in its life, if Linda could be believed. Joni only sorta remembered what Linda had been bitching about last time they spoke. Once it became clear that Linda wasn’t giving her money, she got off the phone as fast as she could, having other calls to make.

Not only was Ransom there, in a tux that cost more than all her monthly bills combined, looking far too effortlessly perfect, but the motherfucker had the audacity to look bored.

Bored!

Here she was, scraping by to make ends meet and what does the little prick do? Knock up his boss and boom, he’s on Easy Street. Standing there by several tables for the silent auction, next to the stunning indoor waterfall which had been featured in Architectural Digest several times. She would know, Joni had her eyes peeled for the widowed architect upon arrival.

Joni almost threw back her entire flute of champagne.

Almost.

Only her plans for the evening kept her in check. She needed to remain in control of herself, on her game.

Still though, she found herself strolling towards the piece of shit, who actually had the audacity to stand there while the pregnant woman whispered something in his ear that made the corner of his lips tug. 

Was he even rubbing your back?

Oh that self-serving asshole.

Passing several gentlemen that were around the age of your husband when you first married him.

Oh yes, Joni had heard about you.

Over the years, Joni had scoffed. Joni had married for love. Joni had married her true love and had a daughter out of that blissfully happy union. You had to screw the crypt keeper in your twenties. Granted, now, Joni was willing to concede that maybe you might have been onto something, all things considered.

Joni’s gaze drifted up.

Over on the wall above a small table at the auction was a picture the crypt keeper in his wheel chair. Hair a shock of white, face scowling, wearing a suit and you sitting beside him. Young. So young. Immaculately dressed, hair perfect, one eyebrow raised as if daring the photographer to say something.

_The Rosenberg Scholarship Award._

Right, that was tonight too.

The precious widow would be announcing the twenty recipients of various scholarships that the Rosenberg Estate funded.

Chip’s precious fucking widow.

Joni had yet to meet you. But she heard you were a total bitch from trusted sources, other friends in the same boat as her.

Chip’s precious widow who was pregnant with her former butler’s baby. Oh how the gossip bloggers and tabloids had a field day with that, especially when Richard gave them the exclusive scoop. 

And you’d just given Ransom a few of the Rosenberg Holding Companies. Much in the way normal people gave a friend a book that they liked. What made it even worse? According to the papers, he’d been quite successful with them. Which had been why those articles were in the papers and not the tabloids. Of fucking course Ransom would have the Midas Touch. It was utterly ridiculous.

Still, Joni plastered a big smile on her face as she approached. 

“Ransom! What are you doing here?!”

Ransom had seen his aunt circling like a vulture. He’d noticed her hitting on several men over cocktail hour and changing out place settings in the ballroom where dinner would be served. Still, he hadn’t expected her to approach. Not with the amount of gold digging she had to do to cover her expenses. His mother had told him about her latest chat with her brother’s widow. Apparently, the situation was dire.

Both of Ransom’s dark eyebrows went up.

You glanced at him, briefly looking away from the queen society matron herself, decked out in diamonds, furs and a scowl and on any other day Joni would have been horrified at real fur. But if she could get an introduction…she’d let it slide. 

You gave Ransom a questioning look.

Forcing her nephews hand for that coveted introduction. And for a second, annoyance flashed over Ransom’s face. Joni knew her spoiled nephew. He could not have been having a good time standing there, rubbing you back as you chatted with the Queen Bea. 

With a smirk, Ransom shifted from one leather loafer to the other. “Babe…Beatrice, this is my Aunt Joni, out husband hunting for big game, no doubt.”

You seemed somewhat mildly amused at that introduction.

The always sixty years old Beatrice was not. Recently married to her seventh husband, the biggest game in all of Boston now that your beloved Chip had passed over the rainbow bridge, looped a diamond covered hand in the crook of your elbow. Announcing, “Come along, there is someone I want you to meet before we move into the dining room and you give your speech.”

In a cloud of diamonds and Chanel perfume, Joni watched the widow and newlywed walk off.

“You’re such an asshole Ransom,” she hissed most venomously.

Ransom sipped his sparkling water and lime.

He wasn’t drinking till dinner.

Joni sided up to her nephew, her eyes taking in the sight of the two figures walking off, along with everyone else within identifying range. Should one of her marks go by solo. “How the hell did you get into this crowd? You were in Vanity Fair this month! You’re a felon and these people bleed blue!”

Smirking, Ransom leaned against the wall and informed his aunt. “These people have more money than god. My record is more of an eccentricity than anything. Plus, I served my time.”

A noise of utter disgust came from Joni.

“So how long do you plan to ride this out?”

Surprised, Ransom glanced at his blonde aunt, surprised and a little insulted by her question. Glancing into the bubbly drink with a slice of lime floating around, Ransom quietly asked, “What do you mean?”

Joni’s gaze may have been otherwise occupied, but her words were just for Ransom. “Come on, you’re Richard’s son. The longest relationship you’ve ever had was a four-day holiday weekend. You expect me to believe that you’re now Mister Family-Man?”

Ransom said nothing.

He didn’t care what Joni thought. He had bigger things to think about than Joni’s opinion of him.

He had nothing to prove.

“Oh. My. God. Ransom.”

Lowering his glass, he noticed that Joni was staring at him.

“You’re having human feelings for this woman?! That is hysterical!”

With a rise of his eyebrows, Ransom patted Joni on the shoulder and before walking off, encouraged. “Good luck on the hunt Joni.”

***

Every year you gave the opening words at Beatrice Kirkpatrick’s Charity Gala.

Chip used to do it up until his sudden and tragic passing. Since you were his widow, the honor fell to you.

This was the first time you’d ever given the words and not felt any sense of unease or nervousness. In fact, you were even looking forward to it. You suspected it had something to do with the individual who’d so selflessly knocked you up. Whom you could clearly see down at your table, one away from the head table and as you walked up to the podium, you couldn’t help but glance Ransom’s way, wink, send him a flirty little smile promising more for later.

Considering he’d helped you come up with your opening words, he deserved a reward.

Up until you got in the car to leave, you were bouncing between three different speeches you had written by three separate writers. 

None of which you’d picked per Ransom’s encouraging.

And that was how you wound up at the front of the room with hundreds of eyes on you. Eyes belonging to Boston’s wealthiest, well connected, sharpest minds all there to donate money to various charitable causes. You being one of the most generous donors in the room, which, earned you a standing ovation.

In a way, your designer gown, makeup and jewelry were armor as much as any that a knight would wear into battle. 

Normally, all that would have made you feel a bit better, more comfortable around the upper crust of Boston Society. People who normally you felt that physical disconnect from so powerfully. Yet, that night, something was different and you knew what that something was, seated at your table, making an obscene gesture at you with his tongue and two fingers.

Oh Ransom. 

Neither of you could really go out in public.

When the clapping died down, you leaned against the podium that was up on a little elevated platform for the actual speakers and whoever had been tasked with announcements. Your son kicking most notably against your ribs, leading you to reach down and rub the little devil. Who was already driving you crazy like his father. He was turning into quite the handful already. Who could have pictured that with Ransom being the father? 

Chip would have been so proud and amused.

Reaching to lower the microphone, you cleared your throat to further quiet the room, a corner of your mouth quirking up in a grin. You then smiled and greeted the packed ballroom. “Well…we meet again, same time and place as last year. What are the odds? Chip finally has his heir too. So congratulations to me.”

Laughter erupted.

Everyone in the room knew Chip. Knew of Chip. Had heard stories about Chip.

On you went, leaning against that podium.

No longer concerned about what you would say and how you would say it. It was safe to say you were feeling more comfortable in your own skin these days. Plus, you and Ransom had come to an agreement. Happening when you walked into the living room to see him on the couch with your nephews that morning, cutting up one of Chip’s portraits in his boxers and a t-shirt, sandwiched between the boys as they ate cereal and watched cartoons. 

One painting could remain. One. It had to remain out in the foyer.

Family portraits would be taken for the other rooms of the five of you, once the baby arrived.

“Every year my dearly beloved Chip, who was taken far too soon from us, would come and speak and…” you paused strategically as you pressed on, hearing the soft laughter at mention of your dear late husband. A hand went to your heart as you looked upwards in fondness. “…I do think it is safe for me to say, as his widow, that Chip hated every single one of you people so much. Especially you Dave…oh how he despised you.”

_Yes,_ Ransom thought, this could be that one. The perfect one. The one that he had been searching for forever.

So what if Joni was right.

Who cared if he hadn’t been into long-term relationship before?

He just hadn’t found the right person before and you, you were that horrible person. 

As if to prove that point, Ransom glanced over his shoulder, way over at where Aunt Joni was seated. Three tables over sided up to an architect that in Ransom’s honest opinion, was highly overrated. A look of horror on her face as you went on to detail how much your late, snowy haired husband, despised various people in the room. Ransom caught her eye and smirked.

Oh yes.

You were just the right person for him.

“Oh and you Roger, I see you laughing. Chip hated you most of all. He knew it was you who got him in trouble with the Zoning Board. Just between you and me…it was Chip who gave you that bad stock tip about Amazon.”

Yes, just the right person.

***

Great Nana scurried down the hallway, her furs and pearls trailing in her slight wake as the two young nephews gleefully chased after her, laughing and screeching in mirth at their crime.

A package of Klondike bars in her arthritic hands.

“Hurry up Great Nana,” the younger one encouraged from beneath the baggy t-shirt that belonged to Ransom he so frequently wore to bed. A favorite because it made him feel more like his uncle, who one day, one day he’d be like.

Great Nana knew what her great-grandson had done.

Contrary to popular belief in her family, she was not senile.

One day, Ransom would have to answer for what he’d done. But he was still blood of her blood. He’d taken her in, when everyone else would have been glad to shove her off into a home to die.

Plus, there were the boys.

Oh how they made her feel young again, seventy even. And the Rosenberg Woman was pregnant with her great-great-grandson.

Great Nana would see the very next generation. Hold it in her hands. Of that she was certain.

First though, first she would hold an ice cream sandwich in her hands.

***

“That is the stupidest goddamn thing I have heard all night,” Ransom told Mayor Peterson in no uncertain terms. “And I listened to Ole Lady Harris tell me how she’s leaving her fortune to her cat.”

There he was, the father of your future children.

Wasn’t he just precious?

****

“So how long before we can blow this popsicle stand? You promised me anal tonight if I was a good boy and shit if I haven’t been on my best goddamn behavior.” Ransom bitched and not for the first time that night.

Promises of sex in no man’s land had been the only reason he bit his tongue on nine different occasions, occasions where he would have preferred to talk some serious shit.

However, that was the long awaited night.

Normally, Ransom had no problem at all cutting off his nose despite his face. Normally that was. He’d been on your ass, figuratively, about fucking your ass, literally, for months now.

And then, on the walk inside the building hours ago, you’d discreetly whispered that in his ear, because you were a fucking tease.

Well, the time had come and he was hard as a fucking rock and ready to go home.

So when you wandered over to where he sat at your table, having just returned from what looked like a mind numbing conversation with the mayor’s wife and her sister, whose husband owned a bank or some shit, Ransom was more than ready to bounce.

Dinner had been served.

All the guest speakers had spoken.

Dessert had been served.

The scholarships and big donations had been made.

People were mingling.

Ransom was ready to go.

Therefore, he was not pleased when you plopped down on his lap and wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders.

Initially, you were not so thrilled when you found out you were seated at one of the tables nearest the podium in the ballroom. Right by the windows overlooking the city. Putting you farthest away from the exit and pretty much guaranteeing that there would be no leaving early.

Your fingers combed through his dark hair. A noise of agreement came from you as you leaned against the father of your unborn son. Who’d been kicking up something of a storm since dinner. At this rate, he’d be up all night. “Another hour should do it. We have to stay for the silent auction.”

Ransom made a noise of utter disgust.

Everyone seemed to be mingling towards the bar and ballroom, a safe distance away to miss what came from Ransom’s mouth next.

“Are you fucking kidding me? We didn’t bid on anything and I don’t give a shit about who win’s what.”

Another noise came from you as your fingers danced over the black buttons on his crisp white shirt beneath his tuxedo jacket.

You couldn’t help it. 

Lately, everything he did was turning you on. Everything. You’d climbed on him when you woke up and saw that he was sporting some impressive morning wood, waking him up as you bounced on his dick like it was more vital than coffee at five am. Around nine you snuck up behind him in the kitchen for a repeat performance on the floor. And then, sometime over the noon hour, you’d stalked him in your home gym because his ass in those shorts while he ran on the treadmill. Oh god…and then he’d had on grey sweatpants that afternoon. Well. What were you supposed to do? Not yank his pants down and deep throat him like he was going off to war?

After that, you’d been on your best behavior. Mostly because you had to start getting ready. It had been hours since you’d felt him between your thighs and to be quite honest, you felt a little neglected.

“Pictures,” you explained, scanning the immediate area for any interlopers. Right before you pressed your mouth against the side of his head. Speaking softly, gently, like a content girlfriend would to her boyfriend after a lovely evening out. “You were the jackass who agreed to offer something for the fucking auction.”

“I swear to god, I’ll start a fire myself just to get the hell out of here…”

And while you felt the exact same way. Like a cat in heat clawing at the walls. You weren’t about to commit a felony and risk having to speak to the authorities, as that would take forever.

Besides, you had just the thing for him.

Against his ear, you added, “I’m not wearing any panties and am wet and ready for you.”

Beneath you, he went still.

Perfect.

That was just the reaction you wanted.

You’d given this some thought over dinner. When you could feel the telltale signs of your second trimester hormones paired with Ransom looking like a mother fucking snack in his tux became evident as your panties took that bullet. Having just thrown them out in the ladies room and cleaned up, you knew the situation down beneath the billowing layers of your gown was not going to get any better. Nope. Not without a shower and fresh panties for the night.

You were horny and wetter than you’d been since you were a fucking teenager.

“Best as I can figure…” you murmured against his temple, as his hands most definitely were sneaking up beneath your skirt. “…between this dress and that table cloth, so long as you don’t make any big movements…”

“Hey you guys!”

Ransom shouted. Shouting loud enough to draw a few stares from nearby Bostonians socializing like their lives depended on it. 

After which, Joni plopped down in the chair beside him with a big smile on her face that he knew was not only fake, but, meant she wanted something and at that very moment in time, he would have given her anything to go away. “For fucks sake Joni! What the hell are you? A goddamn cat! Make some noise next time!”

Completely ignoring her nephew, Joni leaned forward and reached out. “Hi! I’m Ransom’s Aunt Joni. I wanted to come over and congratulate you while I had the chance. Is this your first child?”

Highly amused, more at Ransom than her, you made sure to lean forward and apply just the right amount of pressure and yup…there was Ransom’s erection. Boy was it quite the erection too. You were most definitely going to have to go down on him in the car. There was no way he was going to last long the first time being that hard, that obviously uncomfortable. You were definitely going to have to make him come to take the edge off Cause you had big plans for later that night.

“Yes and thank you, Ransom speaks so much about his family.” You effortlessly lied, “I feel like I know you all so well already.”

A nervous, somewhat skeptical look crossed Joni’s face for a fleeting second. “Really? Wow…well, I…adore Ransom.”

She could have adored Josef Stalin for all Ransom cared. Merely the thought of getting his painful dick wet had him throwing heavy artillery her way, in the hopes it’d send her off for the hills. Or at the very least, the other side of the room.

“Slim pickings for husband number two? Or have all the other gold diggers managed to capture the big trophies for the evening?”

A tight scowl briefly was directed at Ransom. After which, a glorious beaming smile turned to you. Flipping her blown out golden hair. Joni focused her attention on you and you understood how a mouse felt being hunted by a cat.

It was quite exciting.

“So! Have you prepared your nursery for the new arrival? I bet it’s stunning.”

And Joni wasn’t shutting up.

Not only did Ransom now have to listen to whatever bullshit was about to come out of her mouth. But, you were sitting on the mother of all erections and wiggling every chance you could, further driving him to the point where he very well would come in his pants at this rate. God did he need a drink.

Rendering him unable to sink his hand any further up your dress with cock-block-Joni inches away. Instead he lifted his hand to rest it on your side, touching his son. A foot that thumped against his palm in a kick. Already a little shit.

“Oh…it’s great. Beautiful. Ready for the baby.”

And if that wasn’t a boldfaced lie.

He’d been in the nursery looking for Great Nana that afternoon. Nothing. Not so much as a package of diapers on the floor. Not that Ransom was about to call you out on it and risk Joni volunteering her services as a hippie-witch, or whatever she was doing at the moment to get money.

Never missing an opportunity, Aunt Joni leaned in closer. “You know,” she purred enticingly, ensuring she maintained eye contact with you. “There is a certain order for the room to be in. Certain colors to ensure the baby is surrounded by nothing but positive energy. When your baby is young it is so vital that their cosmic…”

Ransom could not begin to contain the outburst that came forth from him. “Oh my god…”

Joni looked about ready to strangle her nephew by marriage. 

You took that opportunity to lean over, grab a brown bottle from the table and hand it over to Ransom. Not because you wanted to give the father of your baby his beer. No. Instead you were more interested in tormenting your baby daddy by moving around on top of his dick.

Pointedly ignoring Ransom, Joni reached out to touch your arm.

Wanting no part of discussing the nursery, or Joni attempting to bond in any way with you. Appraisingly, your eyes swept over Ransom who took the bottle from you mid-grimace. “I’ll mention it to my personal butler.” 

Sipping away. Ransom watched Joni absorb that information and latch onto it. He could see the second his aunt realized she couldn’t get her hooks in. Which was a little disappointing. Ransom would have paid good money to watch Mrs. Kim rip Aunt Joni apart. 

“We have a whole Korean family living with us that does all kinds of weird shit. As soon as I get home, I’ll have Mrs. Kim prepare a drum circle, charge some crystals and light incense.” He helpfully added.

For a second, Joni’s mask fell.

Actual and real outrage came over her features at Ransom’s absolute disregard for her passion. And obviously he’d listened to her over the years enough to be able to add a degree of realness to his offensiveness. Leave it to Linda and Richards son. God, she hated them all so much, every last one of them, to include this asshole most of all. Those two assholes had made this asshole. 

Joni was almost afraid to imagine what sort of human being you and Ransom would create.

****

Having sex with a pregnant woman was not something Ransom ever thought he’d be into. Ever. Now he had heard guys talk about it. Brag about it. Go into great detail about it. But he’d written them off as crazy. Either married men who were trapped with only one pussy to fill for the rest of their lives, trying to make the best of that horrific situation. Or that they were just fucking weird. Some people were into weird shit. It didn’t make them bad. Just weird.

Now though, now Ransom understood.

He totally got it.

The two of you had only just got home, bid Mister Kim goodnight and checked on your nephews, who were curled up in bed with Great Nana in her room. Covered with sticky vanilla ice cream and chocolate.

He hadn’t even been able to get you out of your dress.

Like a ravenous animal, you fell upon him. You clawed at him. You pulled his clothes off before he could ask you why you’d lied to Joni, or if you wanted anything from the kitchen. His pants were pulled around his ankles and you were sucking his aching dick better than anyone ever in his entire life. It was wet and hot and your hands grabbed his thigh, held tight to his balls until he came in what felt like record time down your throat to you moaning deeply, leaving him hard and flustered and somewhat confused at this appetite you had that he was only barely keeping up with. At this rate, he would need that sixteen-week downtime after you popped out his son. By the time your pregnancy was over his dick would be nothing but a big raw sore.

Stripping him down bare, you made it known to him that he belonged to you in every possessive way that he claimed about you. Ransom found himself in the bed you two shared getting ridden by you till his dick was once again hard, after you’d sat on his face and took your pleasure. 

Watching you fuck yourself on him, even still dressed, hands in your hair as your tits bounced within their fabric prison had him erect in no time. Seeing you so insatiable left his breathless.

He let you be greedy. He let you take what you wanted from him.

Both because it was such an erotic sight to behold. But also, because he was selfish and because he so desperately wanted in your ass. He wanted you to be as relaxed as possible when he slid in there. A part of you that was unconquered. Never before had he wanted to put his dick in anyone’s ass. You did something to him. You made him feel certain ways.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you, as he watched your face contort above him in ecstasy. Feeling you tighten and clench around his once more, proud erection. Your body bouncing on him, shaking the bed and mattress, smearing your abundance of slippery arousal all over your pelvises and on your gown. 

It’d been your third orgasm in a row.

He’d made sure of that after doing his own fair bit of research. Ransom wasn’t small. He knew he wasn’t small and normally that was something he was proud of, he knew he had to approach the realm of anal sex with great care, if he wanted a repeat of the act.

“Ready to take my cock in your ass?”

Hell, he could have asked if you were ready to hop on Space-X and go to Mars. Above him you nodded. Above him you shook, trembled and unraveled around his stiff member, squeezing it in the right way. Had he not been so intent on this act, he would have enjoyed himself and not for the first time that day, flooded you with his release.

Ransom had absolutely no idea why he was obsessed with filling you up when you were already pregnant. Hell, maybe he was one of those weird assholes too? If he was? Fuck if it didn’t feel amazing.

Getting you off him proved far more difficult than expected. Involving actually flipping you over, getting your dress off of you and finally exposing your nude form to him.

A swell of your abdomen where his kid was made him pause for only a second. A second because your bigger breasts hung from the position Ransom was shoving you. Hands and knees. Ass in the air. The last of your holes to take. Then you would be all his and his alone.

On a regular basis he fucked your mouth and your cunt. Now he’d finally have your ass.

“You good babe?” He asked as he reached over to the dresser for lube he’d bought. A special anal lube that according to the creep behind the counter at the sex shop, had a numbing effect. Perfect for that first time. Rick had assured him with this bottle of product, Ransom could fit his BMW in a mailbox. “You comfortable. The baby ok?”

Still panting, hair messy and a touch sweaty. Your head whipped around to glare at him from over your shoulder. “For fucks sake Ransom! You’ve been bitching and moaning and whining and begging for months. Put it in my ass already and then we can talk about your feelings!”

It was like…you were the other part of his black heart.

Somewhat pointedly, in response to that little outburst, Ransom loudly popped the cap of the lube with his thumb and squirted more than a copious amount on your ass. A bit too much. But it was the first time going in there and he wasn’t taking any chances.

Holding your gaze with his own, Ransom tossed the bottle aside so he could use both hands to spread your cheeks, rub all that lube liberally around your asshole. Spreading it around the tight pucker and pushing his thumb in to spread it around. All while you made a face then turned back around to press your face into pillows, to brace yourself. 

Fucking Rick had given Ransom some pointers too and though he hadn’t thought much about it then, he was now. Now that he was slathered up in lube and pushing his thumb further in your back opening. Seeing the messy, sloppy, engorged condition of your very satisfied pussy, Ransom wanted to be sure this was equally good. 

According to that green haired clerk, some people were anal people and others were not and Ransom was really hoping you were.

Pulling his thumb out led you to shift around beneath him. 

Leading Ransom to slip his index and middle finger into all that lube and then slide them in, bit by bit, slowly back inside you. “That ok?”

A noise of affirmation came from you.

At least he knew if it was a big damn no, you’d say so. You were no martyr. You weren’t about to suffer in silence to make him happy. It was not your style. 

What you did do however, was let out a sudden, “Shit!” Right around the time when Ransom began to spread his two fingers inside your ass. Having pushed them about halfway in, he wanted to see the stretch, wanted to feel the tight ring of muscle around your opening pull tighter around his fingers. He wanted to see and feel it all.

“That ok,” he asked again, stilling his fingers though keeping them spread open.

He could feel you trying to relax, feel you tightening up a little around his fingers. A panting noise that was not pain but not pleasure came from you. Discomfort. Which had been brought up in his research and which Ransom had a solution for, winding up with him positioning the head of his dick at your pussy entrance and pushing in, going home, filling your snug channel with his erection and caressing your clit with his free hand.

“Oh shit…”

Another surprised noise, but one he could tell was getting better and not worse.

“Told you I’d make you feel good. I’m going to make you come all my dick and fingers. Feel how hard you make me? Feel that? That’ll be in your ass soon. So far up your ass you won’t be able to sit down for a week without feeling me.”

In response you moaned. You widened your legs to accommodate him, because you were just as hungry for it as him. Allowing him to slip a third finger into your slippery ass.

Long skilled fingers curled in through your goopy pussy lips, massaging the tender flesh and twisting your pearl, stroking it and rubbing. Winding you up. Distracting you from the pressure growing in your ass. Not painful. Different, yes. Unusual, kinda. Paired with Ransom’s cock now stuffed back in you, it was a barrage of sensations that you were sorting through. And then he did it again, stretched his fingers out, making you gasp out, unsure if it felt good or not or weird, or what. It was an overbearing flood of feelings that you were sorting through.

Fingers continued to twist around your clit, bringing you higher and higher and when the feeling of Ransom’s shaft withdrawing from your walls came, you waited, unsure. Heard the squirt of what you assumed was even more lube. His fingers still played with your clit, pushing you even closer to yet another orgasm.

Until you felt the pressure of his tip pushing against your ass.

Pushing in slow but steady, slowly without hesitation. Stretching you further than you thought you could go. 

It burnt. Fire. It felt like there was actual fire.

Pressure and tightness.

From where your face was pressed into the pillow you swore heatedly, dug your fingers into blankets as your tight muscle stretched out further, impossibly further it felt like, burning fiercely and pulling him in with a pop, making you cry out at the fullness and the discomfort and unbearable tightness of having Ransom’s dick in your ass.

It was all too much. Way too much.

In fact, you were about to demand he remove it when you came, when your body splintered into a million pieces from his rubbing your slippery clit. Screaming your pleasure into the mattress so you didn’t wake anyone. You came harder than it felt like you’d ever come in your entire life. Your pussy clenched around nothing at all as the muscles deep in your ass squeezed tight around the intrusion. 

Fireworks went off, bright colors were all you could see. A fuzzy buzzing filled your ears as you came and climaxed powerfully. 

Only a little aware that he was moving inside you. Fingers still playing maliciously with your clit as he began to slowly fuck you. Pump in and out slowly at first, cautiously, building up steadily as your hole began to not squeeze him almost unbearably tight.

“Oh fuck Ransom…” you breathed out, resting the side of your face against the mattress, taking his increasingly fast thrusts, gasping from his continued his atention on your clit and your second hole. “…fuck you Ransom…oh shit…such a fucking asshole…” Escaped from you with no malice. Only squirms and cries, clenched eyes and tightening fingers around Egyptian cotton. 

It was better than he thought.

His balls slapped wetly against you. Your ass was so tight it felt like you were squeezing him out sometimes. Shit you were wet. Your clit was almost hard to keep track of in the folds of your cum soaked sex.

Fuck was right.

“Fuck you feel so good. I’m going to fuck your ass every day. Fill it with my cum too. All of it. All of you.” 

Fuck he would too.

Ransom’s thighs burnt. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his spine. A telltale tightening feeling in his balls told him he was close and your tight little ass wasn’t helping matters. Nor was your soft swearing or the trembling in your hips, as you began to come free from the grip of your powerful orgasm.

You were so tight and wet and squishy, it was no shock that he didn’t last long, that Ransom came with a shout, unable to hang on a little longer, continue to rail into you a few more minutes or even one single minute.

In a powerful consuming sensation that rocked his body from ankle to ear to his pulsing cock, Ransom climaxed deep in your ass. Ejaculating wildly it felt like. Powerfully into you. Clenching his eyes and teeth, sinking his messy fingertips into the flesh of your ass as he came undone. Finding peace in your flesh. Rewarded with acceptance that your body always freely gave him.

Falling backwards onto the mattress, eyes solely focused on the sight of you, of both your holes that he’d filled that night, Ransom hardly noticed the pearly release that continued to spew from his cock. Collecting on the inside of his sweaty thigh in thick white clumps.

Far too entranced with the sight of you, his partner, mother of his child, his lover and now all things that made up his life. 

His head feeling utterly clear in that moment.

Clarity.

For some reason, he breathlessly asked you. “Why’d you lie to Joni about the nursery?”

Sending his words out between you where they found a home.

Sending you onto your side, collapsing into soiled bedding. Feeling nothing but slick wet satisfaction between your thighs. As if in protest, a little foot kicked at your side to warn you he was not happy with all the activity and sending your hand over top of your skin, attempting to calm the piece of Ransom deep inside of you. A futile effort that you were well aware.

Taking a look at his father, down where your ankles were tangled up together. Midway down the bed where he sat. Glistening with perspiration. Dick thick on his thigh and smeared with his own release. Dark hair clumpy, sticking up and falling across his forehead. A splattering of dark hair across that broad chest plastered down from sweaty exertion. Eyes the darkest shade of blue, as they came down and waited for you to speak.

Why had you lied to Joni about the nursery?

It was shameful, a dark little secret that you had yet to confess. 

Ransom was dark. He’d just made you push your face into the mattress to quiet your screams, so you didn’t wake the entire household from him fucking you in the ass. If there was anyone who could understand the way your twisted mind worked, it was Ransom. If there was anyone you should have told this to, it was the man who put this child in your womb and just filled you in the three most primal and debauched ways.

Shifting, turning, moving around till you were comfortable on your back, resting against pillows, a hand on the swell where your unborn child threw what felt like a fit and your other hand ran through loose tendrils of your hair. Sighing deeply. You finally answered his question.

“Chip and I tried for a long time to have a child of our own. Years and years. My sister told me that it was most likely him, even though we never saw a specialist. Still though, you know, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was me.”

Ransom was quiet. He didn’t say anything. Which gave you the encouragement to keep talking, go on.

Fidgeting around on your bed. Ransom could not help but notice the fluids that oozed from you and became smeared on the bedsheets. 

“After we started having sex and I didn’t get pregnant right away…I thought that maybe it was me. Maybe I didn’t deserve to have a child because of what a bitch I am.”

Though he said nothing, you noticed Ransom clench his jaw.

“I have this thought that won’t go away. That if I decorate the nursery and start to prepare for the baby…I’ll lose it and I know I’m having a normal pregnancy. I know the doctor said everything is going well. I still can’t get that notion out of my head. I can’t put anything in the nursery. No shower. No nothing. I don’t want to risk it.”

It was ridiculous.

It was one of the most absurd things Ransom had heard that night and yet, he knew better than to say anything, or react. Not when you were so vulnerable. So open and honest. Not after he’d had you screaming beneath him, trusting him with your body completely and absolutely.

Knowing that he of all people was ill equipped to deal with this idea you had in your hormonal filled brain, Ransom elected to say nothing. 

Instead he rolled over onto his knees to crawl up the bed. Plopping down beside you, pressing his lips on your forehead and reaching out to rest a hand over yours that rested on his son. 

“Our son is healthy. He’s as big as he’s supposed to be. The doctor said everything is progressing normally.”

It was true.

You nodded that it was true, inching closer to Ransom. Pulling your knees up and resting your shins on the top of his thighs. Reaching out with your free hand to rest it over his heart. “I know. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s probably just my hormones.”

“It’s not crazy. You willingly became pregnant with my kid, that’s crazy. This isn’t. You’re pregnant. It has got to be normal to be worried.” And that was the best that Ransom could come up with, but it seemed to work. It seemed to make you feel better because you wiggled even closer to him.

Knowing when to shut up, Ransom did that.

He stayed there on the bed with you till the two of you went to go shower. 

Afterwards, Ransom quick changed the sheets when he got out and under the guise of getting you a glass of water, left the bedroom shortly after you began to moisturize before bed. It was a whole routine. He had a solid ten minutes.

Not that he was going right to the kitchen.

No.

Ransom took a detour.

In no more than a pair of silk sleeping pants, he headed through the penthouse till he came to his old room.

The Butler’s Room.

Flipping on the light to illuminate the dark room because why the fuck not. Ransom glowered into the bedroom. Setting his eyes on the big bed containing a sleeping Mister Kim flopped on his front.

Beside him, Jun Kim, the wife and butler and your personal assistant, your everything.

Holding a book with one of those light clips attached to the top of it.

One inky eyebrow rose and that was the only reaction Ransom was granted.

“You were right about the nursery,” he all but seethed. 

She was neither shocked nor surprised.

Mrs. Kim remained nestled in the bed as her husband of forty years snored beside her, refusing to look away from Ransom who had dared disturb her during her reading time.

Pausing to rest a hand on the doorframe, Ransom so informed this woman who despised him as much as he loathed her. “Look. My son isn’t coming home from the hospital to an empty nursery. You know all the passwords to get onto her iPad and computer?”

“Of course,” came in response.

Ransom would have been surprised to hear anything else honestly.

“When we’re gone tomorrow. I want you to get on her shit. She’s made a Pinterest Board for a nursery. Buy everything. Store it. When she goes into labor, I don’t care if you fly your entire fucking family over from Korea. Have that nursery done by the time the baby comes home. Got it?”

Unimpressed, the greying matronly women looked back to her book. “Got it. Jackass.”

***

_**Almost five months later…** _

Great Nana shuffled into the nursery.

Hunched over.

Quiet.

Curious.

The home was finally silent.

Everyone was in bed after a big exciting day.

Young Hugh had come home from the hospital that afternoon to two excited cousins, a nervous father, an exhausted mother and a never-ending ringing phone from extended family.

Shuffling in her house slippers, she traversed the nursery. 

A beige crib matched the jungle theme. Over in the corner of the room was a matching rocking chair by a bookcase filled with books and a menagerie of animals belonging on a safari. A kid-sized netted tent sat across the room. A rug covered the floor in greens and golds. There was a changing table wrapped with a banner in Korean that she could not read.

Pictures of all manner of animals in various sized frames decorated the walls. Family pictures too. There was even one of her.

Coming to the crib, Great Nana took her spot beside her great grandson to peer over the side, down at the tiny sleeping form.

Down there he slept peacefully. Her great grandson watched him sleep, as if all the secrets to the universe could be found inside his little onesie. A soft blanket with lions and zebras and giraffes covered his little legs. Little hands were balled up into itty bitty fists.

Softly, her late son’s grandson spoke in the softly illuminated room. Lit only by a light from a lamp across the room. 

“I’m sorry Great Nana.”

It was the first time he had ever said those words to her and she knew they were sincere, she knew now that he knew and understood, looking down upon his own son.

Resting against his side, she covered his hand with her own arthritic one. Only now could he truly come to understand what he had done. She gave his hand a squeeze as she peered down at the next generation.

“He’s so small.”

Grunting in response to his statement. Great Nana reached down. She placed her gnarled hand on the small back of Ransom’s infant son. Brushed her thumb over his silky dark hair. Felt the gentle rise of his back against her weathered palm. 

Beneath her hand was a part of her own son. A part of her that her great grandson had taken away only to give back in a backhanded sort of way, Ransom’s way undoubtedly. 

Clarity, she suspected, had finally come to her great grandson.


End file.
